The Maze
by Third World
Summary: A descent into hell. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

**Before You Enter the Maze… **

**Disclaimer** – _Gensomaden Saiyuki _belongs solely to Minekura Kazuya and whoever else shares its legal rights. This story was written without permission; my only purpose is to pay tribute and entertain other fans. No profit has been made, or will ever be made, with it.

The poem _The Silent Scream_ belongs solely to Nightdweller.

**Warning **– For homosexual themes, foul language, sexual harassment, racial bigotry (human vs. youkai), and violence. If any of the above offends or disturbs you, be mature and hit your back button instead of hitting me. My concern with your sensibilities ends where my freedom of speech begins.

**Author's Note** – The hero's mythic journey has a somber version: the _nekyia—_from the Greek _vekuia _(_vekus_, corpse), after the eleventh chant of Homer's _Odyssey_. It describes a descent into darkness, a plunge into the unconscious, a peregrination through Death's realm. _The Maze_ is the first installment of a trilogy that follows this premise.

My deepest, sincerest thanks to my betas Willow and Procyon, and a special bow to dear Softwelshrain, who helped me with this final version. 

**The Maze **

_Bound by a never-ending nightmare, _

_I find myself encaged within a maze of madness _

_Desperately seeking an out. _

_But search as I may, _

_Wander as I would, _

_Every path chosen _

_Becomes a mere extension of another, _

_And every turn taken _

_Becomes another dead end. _

_Quickly entangled in the web of passages, _

_I become _

_A player in a game without finish, _

_A traveler on a journey without destination; _

_As I roam within the walls of the maze._

Nightdweller, _The Silent Scream _

**Chapter 1 **

The merciless sun caused the air to shimmer as the travelers' jeep crossed the dying land. From his place in the back, Gojyo tried to focus his attention on Hakkai—on how Hakkai's soft touch on the steering wheel had become a white-knuckled grip—but his eyes kept darting towards the passenger seat with a confused mixture of guilt, hurt, and longing. Sanzo. Who had his face turned, pointedly shutting out the rest of them. And who, at times, perhaps as a way of releasing the pressure of his smoldering fury, would break the silence by drumming his fingers on his fan.

A sudden pain in his ankle made Gojyo glare at his seat companion. Sanzo's behavior was driving Goku mad and the _saru _fidgeted almost non-stop, his jerking feet sometimes hitting Gojyo with accidental but well-placed kicks. They stared at each other for a while, then Goku stuck his tongue out in defiance and started scratching his arms. Gojyo sighed and slouched in his corner, trying to stay as far away as possible from further flailing limbs. A drop of sweat slowly trickled down his neck to his chest, adding to the stain on his already soaked T-shirt. He wanted to drift off, to lose himself in a void where he could stop thinking and stop feeling, but each heartbeat sent a throbbing ache through his bad arm, denying him the escape.

Goku fidgeted some more, let out a gurgle, and finally voiced his discomfort: "I'm thirsty, Sanzo." The hot wind muffled the whine and threw it backwards, but it was still loud enough, and annoying enough, to cause trouble. Sanzo turned in his seat, fast as a snake and as ready to strike.

"What about a break, Sanzo? We could use a little rest."

Gojyo bit his lower lip. Yeah, and there it was. Good ol' Hakkai, attempting to buffer the imminent explosion and save them all from another delightful lesson, advanced level, on How Many Curses One Can Say in a Row.

Sanzo raised an eyebrow at Hakkai, who just shrugged and continued, "It's almost two o'clock and we have been pushing ourselves practically since dawn. We won't regain a week in a single day."

Gojyo could detect the familiar steel core under the polite tone. And the worry. This was not just an effort to defuse an unpleasant scene; whatever point Hakkai was trying to make, he would stand his ground.

"Keep driving," Sanzo growled. "We'll have a break when _I_ say we'll have a break."

"Sanzo, we can't—"

"Do as I say."

Intent on the battle of wills taking place in the front seat, Gojyo could not, for a moment, figure out why the oppressive heat seemed to have increased. Then he noticed that the scrawny trees and shrubs that flanked the large road were not moving. Hakkai had brought the jeep to a stop.

"Despite his current appearance, Hakuryu is _not_ a machine," Hakkai reasoned evenly. "None of us are."

Gojyo stilled completely. Oh gods. Hakkai was concerned, indeed. But not for Hakuryu. Though brutal, the forced advance was not bound to harm the dragon—healthy youkai could deal with harsher traveling conditions. Hakkai was concerned about _him_. The weak cripple. And Hakkai, being Hakkai, had already perceived that it was useless to appeal to Sanzo's sense of compassion by using Gojyo's name. Gojyo shook his head, not knowing whether he should be angry and tell his old friend to mind his own business, or whether he should feel gratitude. His arm…

"Right, I had forgotten," Sanzo growled and looked at Goku though it was clear that the words were intended for someone else. Gojyo winced. "Put the mighty youkai under a little stress and they fall apart. I should have brought along human girls; they would have been much tougher and I wouldn't have had to put up with as much bitching."

Goku squirmed, totally oblivious to the undercurrents of their impasse. "Uh, Hakkai—let's uh, let's do what Sanzo says, _ne_?" he proposed shyly, pushing his bangs out of his sweaty face. "Let's keep going and I… I will…"

"You will be _quiet_," Sanzo finished for him, fan poised threateningly midair. Goku seemed to grow smaller and spluttered an unintelligible agreement.

Gojyo unconsciously spread his legs, craving Sanzo's eyes on him. Holding him. Boring into him—even if they were to reveal only hatred and repugnance. At least his existence would be acknowledged in some way.

No such luck.

"Now, if we can dissolve this committee," Sanzo said darkly, turning to Hakkai, "let's keep moving."

Hakkai clasped his hands on his lap. "Sanzo, we all need some—"

"We?" Sanzo spat.

"It's not like the sun is going to set in fifteen minutes," Hakkai answered more forcefully. "And Gojyo—"

The reaction was immediate. Sanzo climbed out of the jeep and strode to the shade provided by the meager roadside vegetation. He flopped down on the dirt, face reddened, nostrils flaring, fingers burying themselves into the dry soil like a new type of root. After a surprised pause, a very anxious Goku went to hover near him, obviously desperate to be in his hero's good graces again.

"Gojyo?"

There were several layers in Hakkai's gentle whisper. Mainly it had implied 'How is your arm?'—the question that Hakkai had been asking him for the last ten days—though an impatient tinge of 'What the hell is happening?'had changed the usual friendly inflection. Not to mention other traces of Hakkainese, some too subtle and too complex to interpret.

"I'm okay," Gojyo mumbled as he grabbed their bag of supplies. "So…" Feigning nonchalance, he carefully maneuvered his long legs towards the ground. "Nice place for a picnic, don't you agree?"

"Yes," Hakkai murmured. "And what charming company."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

In the end, the area was too inhospitable and their supplies too scarce for the brief pause to make any real difference. If nothing else, they became even more aware of their filthiness and exhaustion.

As Hakkai checked the jeep and Sanzo once more took his place in the passenger seat, the devilish fan already on his lap, Goku stood in the middle of the road, shoulders slumped. Behind him, Gojyo left the dubious oasis provided by the diseased trees, each dragged step creating a small cloud of dirt. He stopped at Goku's side, for a while just staring mutely at the scorched wasteland. Communing with it. This perfect mirror of his soul.

"Gojyo?" Goku whispered coarsely. "I don't… I can't…"

"Yeah, I know, _saru_. Me neither."

Hakkai came to them, wiping his hands on a piece of bright white fabric. "Is everybody ready?"

Goku shook his head, then glanced worriedly at Sanzo, his expression of a cornered animal—in fear that his pitiful attempt at rebellion had attracted Sanzo's attention, and therefore Sanzo's anger, to him.

Sanzo was not even looking their way.

"Here, try dusting Hakuryu's windshield, will you?" Hakkai suggested, handing Goku the fabric. Goku accepted it with a pout and scuffed over to the jeep. "So, Gojyo…" Hakkai went on, his tone deliberately casual, "how is your arm?"

Gojyo snorted. And here _it_ was again. The Question. Fully voiced now, and without any other meaning but plain concern. Hakkai must be really anxious. "It's okay," he muttered, managing a shrug. A few meters ahead, Sanzo's golden hair caught and translated the sunlight into an amazing spectrum of colors. So beautiful…

Suddenly, Gojyo had to fight the urge to dig his nails into the scab on his left arm and let blood flow onto the arid, thirsty ground.

"Am I going to get an answer other than that?" Hakkai insisted. "A truthful one, for once?"

Gojyo looked at his old friend, not bothering to hide his misery. "Nope. Just—let it be, Hakkai."

"Right. As you wish. But remember that we still have a long way to go. If you feel that you need rest—"

"Okay. Got it."

"Never mind _him_," Hakkai pressed quietly. "Just say the word and we _will_ stop."

Goku's head peeked from behind the jeep and Gojyo cringed, preparing himself for the incoming shout. It did not take long.

"Hey! Hakkai!" Goku called as if Hakkai were out of earshot. "This thing is too small!" Sanzo squirmed in his seat with a scowl that promised imminent doom, but Goku continued, oblivious as always, "I'm taking forever here! Is there another one?"

"It's all right," Hakkai answered, raising his voice accordingly, "no need to carry on wiping. Thanks for your help!" He rested his hand for a second on the small of Gojyo's back and added through gritted teeth, "Let's 'keep driving,' then."

The imitation was flawless, and Gojyo let out a nervous laugh, following Hakkai to the jeep.

"Hey, is this a sleeve?" Goku studied the white fabric with a grimace. "Hakkai? Wait, I recognize this! It's that old shirt of Gojyo's, right? Why did you cut it like a handkerchief? It's useless!"

Gojyo twisted his lips in anger, then took a deep breath. 'That old shirt' had been a favorite; he had found it discarded in his brother's room and had kept it as a memento. When things between himself and Sanzo went sour, he had started wearing it as some kind of security blanket—a foolish, stupid act he was still regretting. Because they had run into an ambush the previous week and a Changed youkai had torn Jien's shirt to shreds, along with his arm. Hakkai had attempted to mend both afterwards. Ah, well…

"Use one of yours next time, _baka_," he teased half-heartedly and Goku cast him a dirty look, trying to think of a clever retort. A glance at Sanzo's tense profile, though, and both of them sobered at once. Feeling guilty, Gojyo watched as Goku, mute and stiff, settled again by his side.

"All right?" Hakkai asked. When nobody said anything, he slowly, reluctantly reached for the steering wheel.

"Come _on_," Sanzo prompted, exasperated, and the jeep was put into gear.

They had barely started riding when a strong gust of wind blew Goku's bangs into his eyes. The boy lifted his hands to brush them out of his face, and the square of white fabric he still held slipped from his fingers. It was hurled against the cluster of dying trees where they had rested, and stuck in a contorted, blackened bough—one resembling an arm flung to the heavens. Thus, while the Sanzo-ikkou drove steadily away, that piece of fabric waved wildly behind them as if someone had been left behind.

Someone desperately begging for help.

Turning in his seat, Hakkai met Gojyo's eyes with his talk-about-bad-omens expression.

Gojyo shrugged again and averted his eyes to the road.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

As kilometers and hours went by, the landscape grew more alive. There were signs of sentient presence on both sides of the road—pastures, some meager crops, an abandoned wagon—and Hakkai took deep breaths, enjoying the change: the late afternoon had brought a cool breeze and with it scents of hay and food. Someone, in a cozy farmhouse, was cooking dinner.

Not that Sanzo would want to stop right _here_ and ask for a place to spend the night. Outlying lands were generally youkai property; even before the coming of the Madness, humans would hold for themselves the best portions and push their demonic counterparts to the poorer fringes. If the pattern was being followed in this area, they would find a village nearby.

Hakkai blinked, wishing his blurry eye to focus. The Sanzo-ikkou had been traveling almost uninterruptedly since leaving the Temple of the Soul's Retreat; when the road had not been clear enough, they had walked, Sanzo's mute anger functioning as the dark fuel that propelled them on. Now he understood why Seikan, the abbot at the temple, had tried to warn Sanzo against crossing this deserted area.

"Better to keep to friendlier routes," the old man had said during their first night as his guests. "Even if they'll cost you more time, Sanzo-sama. What you lose in time, you'll gain in safety."

"We have a vehicle," Sanzo had answered, lifting a lamp to study a pile of stacked scrolls. "Right, Hakkai?"

Hakkai had nodded, feeling terribly self-conscious. Sanzo had called him to the library, despite the fact that the abbot had made it clear that 'Sanzo-sama's demons' were to be kept out of the main building of the temple. Such an insult, Hakkai knew, had destroyed any honest goodwill Seikan could have towards them.

"Did you find the map I need, Seikan-san? I know there's a nearby road to the west somewhere."

"Yes, Sanzo-sama, here." And Seikan had traced with a bony finger a line on the scroll he had unrolled on a table. "We just call it the main road. It was opened more than a half century ago to improve commerce and communication in the area, but things never worked as they should. As it is, it's a forced march under terrible conditions." Distrustful and contemptuous, the abbot's eyes had fallen on Hakkai. "And there's… There's a problem. A youkai problem."

"There's _always_ a youkai problem. And I'm not up to drag myself in a roundabout way if I can take a straight road."

"Sanzo-sama, the main road is a trap even to cautious travelers!" Seikan had advanced to the center of the library, projecting a grotesque, distorted shadow over the packed walls. Hakkai could tell that there was more to be explained, but the old man, out of bigotry or pure meanness, would not give them any other warning.

'Youkai problem.'

It could be anything.

It could be nothing.

A quick sequence drummed on the fan brought Hakkai back to his harsh reality. At the time, Sanzo had agreed with the abbot's—and Hakkai's—suggested roundabout route. This morning, however, he had curtly announced that they were going to take the main road as soon as their quest was resumed.

It made no sense.

Hakkai grimaced, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He was tired of being in a world that made no sense. A world that frightened him.

The previous month had taken its toll on them all: Sanzo and Gojyo had started a circular dance of veiled stares, sexual innuendoes, and impressively hateful words that would compromise their very mission if their mating ritual (or whatever it might be called) went on further. With Sanzo at his most unreasonable, Gojyo spiraling down into self-destruct mode, and Goku responding to the tension by acting like a difficult child, Hakkai had been reduced to the role of impotent witness as the Sanzo-ikkou … disintegrated.

Paradoxically, a youkai ambush and a serious injury had offered them an unexpected respite: though Hakkai had done his best for Gojyo, it was clear that the kappa's arm would need time to heal properly. Therefore, Sanzo had chosen, out of necessity, to steer his team to the nearest safe place he could think of. The abbot of the Temple of the Soul's Retreat had welcomed him, but had not extended his hospitality to Sanzo's unusual entourage—which had ended up ensconced in a house removed from the main building of the sanctuary, forbidden to enter it. In consequence, Sanzo had had almost no contact with his youkai during their one-week stay on holy ground. And the distance seemed to have calmed frayed nerves.

The previous afternoon, Hakkai had wandered into the woods that bordered the northern side of the temple, after medicinal herbs and some time with his own thoughts. He had not walked for long when a glimpse of pure white brought him to a halt: Sanzo sat under a blossoming tree, fair head bowed as if in prayer, the fading sunshine enveloping him in a luminous aura. Hakkai had stared in awe before carefully retreating over his own footsteps so as not to disturb him. And, as he approached the house where the rest of the Sanzo-ikkou were lodged, he had heard Gojyo's laugh and Goku's complaints about silly card tricks. He had smiled then, relieved, daring to believe that everything was going to be all right, that the storm had blown itself out.

He had risen earlier this morning to make the final arrangements for their departure—only to find Sanzo already up, already smoking, ghostly pale. One look at those eyes and Hakkai had recoiled, stunned, anticipating the opening of a dark chasm. And as they drove away from the temple, Sanzo had acknowledged neither the novices' cheering nor the zealous abbot's good-byes and prayers—in fact, Sanzo had not uttered a single word to anyone until announcing that they were going to take the main road.

No sense indeed.

Hakkai swerved to the right to avoid running over a snake and Sanzo clicked his tongue disapprovingly. Hakkai sent him an annoyed look, trying to ignore the discomfort his glass eye was causing him. _Do you seriously want me to drive Hakuryu over some unfortunate animal?_ _What's the matter with you, monk? _

It was as if the week they had spent at the temple had not happened at all. They were back to the explosive anger of the previous month, with a variant: it was not subsiding to its usual smoldering coals. It kept swelling and burning and consuming—seemingly nothing could put it out now. Over the course of the day, it had become a virulent, almost physical presence barely contained in the small space of the jeep, more oppressive than the sun that drained their bodies. To Hakkai, it was impossible to equate this irascible man to the beatific vision that he had stumbled on in the woods.

Something had happened the previous night, something serious enough to throw Sanzo completely off balance again.

Hakkai wet his lips. Was it his imagination or did Gojyo have 'Guilty!' written on his every gesture and expression? The self-effacing act was also uncharacteristic; even cornered, even miserable, Gojyo _always_ talked back and showed some attitude. Besides, Sanzo had not even _glanced_ at his favorite victim during the whole day. And what was merely a suspicion on his part seemed to be a certainty to Goku—who was still sending strange looks at Gojyo, clearly blaming him for their ordeal.

Hakkai turned around in his seat. Goku sat very still, large eyes haunted, sweat running freely down his face. There was no more whining about his being thirsty, or hungry, or on the verge of exploding due to stress; he now suffered in silence the particular brand of torture that Sanzo was putting him through.

"You okay?" Hakkai asked him compassionately. Out of them all, Goku was the one bound to feel more lost.

Goku nodded once then frowned at a dozing Gojyo.

"Pay attention to what you're doing, Hakkai," Sanzo scolded softly. "I don't want to spend the night plastered to a tree."

Goku's eyes bulged and Hakkai smiled at his hopeful expression. Yes, it was very soothing to hear Sanzo's normal voice again, not the snarls and curses that had accompanied this nightmarish day. "Sorry," he murmured, straightening slowly. "I'll be more careful."

In the distance, a high hill clustered with houses came into view. Sanzo shook his head as if commiserating with his companions for their suffering at his own hands, then relaxed in his seat. "Let's enter that village ahead and try to have a decent night's sleep," he said. "Buddha, I need a bath." And that was the closest to an apology concerning his behavior that he would offer.

Hakkai could hear Goku's surprised gasp and added, "And some food, too. I wonder what will be the local specialty."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

The village was a rather flourishing town and the sheer size of it was truly impressive for such an isolated area. Hakkai drove by bamboo thickets, kitchen gardens, and a potter's workshop before finding his way into crooked streets paved with cobblestones. The sun had finally started to set and lanterns were being lit everywhere as children frolicked and people talked among wagons of vegetables and fruits. Red paper banners hung from roof to roof, indicating that some important local holiday either had taken place recently or was expected before long.

Their presence attracted several open stares and Sanzo frowned, once again on edge. A noise from behind caused him to whirl around and curse vividly: some young boys had started chasing after the jeep like playful dogs. "It was a fucking mistake to rush into this town like a bunch of morons," he growled.

"I know," Hakkai said, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. "But…"

_But we are exhausted! _Sanzo could understand the mute protest as clearly as if it had been voiced. Yes, they were exhausted. And they were entitled to some slack from time to time. "Watch out or you're going to run someone over," he conceded, irritated. "Not the best strategy to garner sympathy from the locals, if you ask me."

The clogged streets had not been made for their kind of vehicle and soon enough it became impossible to proceed further. Hakkai killed the 'engine' and turned in his seat to check on Gojyo. "All right," he said in a low voice, avoiding eye contact with Sanzo. "Hakuryu has helped us to the best of his abilities. Now it's up to us to find our way around this maze."

Sanzo hesitated for a moment. The decision should be _his_, not Hakkai's, and that was the second time Hakkai crossed him in the course of the day. Too worn out to enter into a dispute over such an inane matter, he grabbed their bag of supplies, thrust his fan into it, and climbed out of the jeep, stomping his feet to stimulate circulation. He needed a bath. And distance from his demons. Otherwise he would end up killing one of them.

He started scanning his surroundings for some clue as to where to find an inn, and Goku came to wait anxiously at his side. From their vantage point at the foot of the hill, they could see what appeared to be layers upon layers of brightly illuminated houses climbing upwards. An unlit stone building, perhaps a castle or a fortress, sat on the distant summit.

Goku ogled everything as he put on his jacket. "This town is different from all the others we've been to recently, _ne_, Sanzo? I bet they have lots of places where we can get food and water. _Ne_? Sanzo?"

Hakkai unloaded their luggage onto the ground and went to wake up Gojyo, who had not yet moved from his position.

"It seems good, Sanzo … _real _good," Goku continued, nodding to himself. "Plenty of food and water… Sounds great, _ne_? Sanzo?"

Sanzo ignored the babbling, gritting his teeth. Hakkai was now helping Gojyo to climb out of the jeep and Gojyo's hair—that cursed, strange, _pariah's _red hair, which should have been caked with sweat and dirt after such a rough journey—flowed like silk in the breeze.

Goku still blathered away, as did a worried Hakkai, in much softer tones. Sanzo tuned out all of the annoying noises, focusing instead on his own thudding heart. Hearing, again and again, that same whispered question: _Did I misunderstand everything between us? _

In the background, Hakuryu changed into his true form, causing the children who had been pursuing them to jump and clap across the street.

"I'm hungry, Sanzo." Goku's whine intruded once more. "Can we go and have dinner? Sanzo?"

Gojyo said something to Hakkai and pushed his hair out of his face, taking in the jammed streets with apathy. The children suddenly stopped their cheering.

"Sanzo? Sanzo?" Goku pulled Sanzo's sleeve. "Can we go and have dinner like _now_? Please? I'm hungry!"

"Youkai!" one of the boys across the street screamed, pointing at Gojyo. "Look! Youkai! Run! Run!"

Sanzo spared a glance at their hasty flight. Of course Gojyo was a youkai. No human would be so … exotic. And what did they think Hakuryu was? An albino bat with a knack for machines? Idiots. There were only idiots in this world.

With the dragon now perched on his left shoulder, Hakkai still talked to Gojyo—who dully nodded, the tip of a rosy tongue touching cracked lips.

"Sanzo?" Goku cried. "Hey, Sanzo?"

Holy fucking shit! Sanzo looked at Goku, scowling.

"Can I have some water?" Goku begged in his most childish pitch. "No need to save it anymore now we're here, _ne_? Please, Sanzo, I'm so thirsty…"

Sanzo cursed and rummaged in their bag of supplies, his anger reaching boiling point again. Goku flinched and raised his hands to protect his head, muttering an apology.

"Take it." Sanzo threw their last water bottle at his charge. "While your mouth is busy doing something other than complain, I suppose I'll finally have some peace." The retort was loud enough to be heard by the other two and Hakkai froze in the middle of the process of picking up his luggage. "Afterwards…" Sanzo went on, voice dripping contempt as he locked his eyes with Gojyo's. "You can shove the bottle up _that_ whore's ass." He then turned on his heels and marched away without looking back at his stunned teammates.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

Gojyo stumbled and was not fast enough to recover his balance. With his right hand holding his bag and the bad one pushing his hair out of his eyes, he would have fallen face first if a strong arm had not pulled him back. Hakkai. Of course.

"Are you all right?" Hakkai's concerned voice seemed to come from the other side of a long tunnel.

Ignoring the temptation to lean against his friend, Gojyo began taking deep breaths to stop the world from tilting off its axis. Better not to look up. There was no point in trying to count how many steps they still had to climb. "Yeah," he muttered, straightening, "just peachy."

"Give me your bag," Hakkai prompted. "I'll carry it for you."

"No way. Let's move or we're going to lose those idiots."

"Gojyo," Hakkai said in a low, somber tone, "I'm too tired to have this conversation right now. Give me your bag. _I_ don't want to lose those idiots."

Gojyo's laughter was short but genuine. "Yes, sir," he said warmly. "Here you are." And with a fast, mocking bow, he passed the bag over—not exactly a good idea, as the dizziness caused by the abrupt move almost made him lose his footing again. But it was kind of funny, watching Hakkai mount the long stone stairway with a dozing dragon perched on his shoulder and a bag in each hand. He considered offering some comment about having seen a very similar circus act once, but all his mirth quickly vanished when he focused on the stretch they still had to overcome. "Fuck."

"Gojyo," Hakkai called, already a good fifteen steps ahead. "Let's _go_."

So unlike Hakkai, such assertiveness… It only added to the nightmarish quality of the whole day.

"And we're going to talk tomorrow, are you listening to me?" Hakkai went on. "After a day like this, you have some explaining to do."

"Me?" Gojyo said, thrown off by Hakkai's direct verbal approach. "What did I do?" The protest came out resigned, though—a token of feigned indignation rather than offense. Damn that lunatic monk and his mixed signals!

"Gojyo," Hakkai called again. "I won't wait for you."

"I'm coming."

Jerky movements resembling those of an animated corpse, Sha Gojyo locked his eyes on his teammate's back and forced his legs to keep moving, Hakkai's green jacket guiding him through the difficult ascent. They had been roaming this maze for almost two hours, and after the first ten minutes he had stopped caring about details. The cursed town was a meandering tangle of coiled streets, little wooden bridges, stairways, and unwelcoming people. Wherever they went, hostile eyes followed, voices whispered, fingers were pointed. And, delightful surprise of all delightful surprises, _he_ was undoubtedly the center of attention.

At the moment, they were trying to find a specific park; the town was swarming with visitors for whatever holiday was being celebrated and there were no vacancies in the foothill inns, but, it seemed, the houses on the fringes of a certain fancy place might still have rooms (and how they had come across this piece of information Gojyo did not know, nor did he care). Sanzo had long since disappeared in the crowd, and if not for Goku running to and fro to inform them of their leader's whereabouts, both he and Hakkai would have been in serious trouble by now.

How could the contrary human be so full of energy when the rest of his youkai team was ready to drop dead in the middle of the way? Or, at least he, Gojyo, was ready to drop dead; Hakkai might be tired and unhappy, but he had fallen behind only to look out for Gojyo.

"Blessed be your mother hen instincts, man," Gojyo muttered, humiliated, "or I would be sitting on some corner by now, weeping like a baby."

"Did you say something?" Hakkai asked without turning, voice strained with the effort of the climbing.

"Nope," Gojyo rasped with a last shred of good humor. "Besides, I'm too dehydrated to weep."

"What?" Hakkai asked, louder.

"What what? Hakkai, you're hearing things."

Hakkai reached the top of the stairway and halted, waiting for him. "Come on, Gojyo. Only a dozen more…"

"A dozen my ass," Gojyo snarled, still concentrated on pumping his legs up. He took the last step with a mixture of relief and horror. If there were more stairways to climb, he would definitely sleep on the street.

"Are you okay?" Hakkai asked softly.

Still trying to catch his breath, Gojyo grunted an affirmative. Only then did he notice the scenery: the park in which he suddenly found himself, with its hundreds of red lanterns and impeccable gardens, was nothing short of magnificent.

"Hey! Hakkai!" Grinning excitedly, Goku ran to them, took one of the bags from Hakkai's hands, and pointed to a luxurious two-story house. "Right over _there_! We're going to sleep in _that _inn; Sanzo got us rooms! Come on, Hakkai, let's have dinner together!" And he bounced back across the grass, his laughter a perfect complement to the soft murmur of a festive song being played in the distance.

"That corrupt priest," Gojyo bristled, noticing that Goku had chosen to take Hakkai's bag with him, leaving his behind. The invitation to dinner had also not included him. "He knows better than to split us up when we get to a strange place. Okay, give me that, Hakkai; it's mine and I'll carry it."

Hakkai surrendered the bag with a harassed expression. "Don't mind Goku," he said, sounding apologetic, "he's angry because—"

"—because he's an idiot," Gojyo snapped and began to walk in the direction Goku had run.

"Among other things," Hakkai agreed lightly. "Oh, and in case you've forgotten…" Gojyo looked at him over his shoulder. "We're going to talk first thing in the morning."

Gojyo shrugged, welcoming the stab of pain in his left arm. Then, Hakkai on his heels, he headed to the two-story inn Goku had pointed to, trying to ignore the fact that a group of humans had gathered nearby and now stared at him with what could only be described as hatred.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

The interior of the inn was all lustrous dark wood, golden inlays, and soft lighting. In an alcove opposite the entrance sat a clerk, a thick book and a censer on his massive desk; to the right, well-dressed customers talked and smoked in the common room, each small table with its own candleholder.

Gojyo stepped into this garish opulence and halted. "Wow! The fake priest sure knew how to choose this time!"

Hakkai smiled and poked Gojyo's back slightly. "Move. You're blocking the door."

"Hakkai! Hey!" Goku called from an inner passageway across the hall. "I'll be in the kitchen; come along if you wish." Hakkai shook his head, amused, and Goku smiled. "Your loss! Sanzo went to the bathhouse in the yard. See you later!" And he vanished behind a painted panel.

"Don't scream here, _baka_, this is a classy joint!" Gojyo answered in a louder voice than Goku's, then chuckled to himself, unmindful of the attention he had attracted. "Some people don't know how to behave in public, Hakkai."

Hakkai sighed, noticing that the clerk, a short, rotund man in his late sixties, had left his desk and now walked towards them with a scowl. "You know, Gojyo," he said, his tone neutral, "I was planning on having a bath and sleeping in a bed tonight. If they kick us out—"

"Just pretend you don't know me," Gojyo suggested with false cheerfulness.

"Sir," the clerk began warily, his eyes on Hakkai. "Don't you know that its presence is _not _allowed here?"

Hakkai attempted to bow, his right hand shielding and petting a still asleep Hakuryu. "I do apologize," he answered softly. "But there must be something we can do to keep this little dragon with us? My friends have already taken rooms—"

"One can clearly see that you aren't from this area, sir," the clerk interrupted. "I was not talking about your dragon. I was talking about _it_." And he tilted his head at Gojyo.

Hakkai's murmured "Pardon?" was drowned by Gojyo's much louder and indignant "What?"

"Youkai presence is not only against our house's rules," the clerk continued, "it's against the _law_. So, either it leaves immediately or I'm going to alert our soldiers. There must—"

"It?" Gojyo bristled. "Did you just call me an _it_?"

The clerk stepped back, his eyes darting to the door—ready to flee, Hakkai realized. The atmosphere in the common room had also changed; all the heads were now turned in their direction and only nervous whispers—a sound that made him think of a disturbed wasps' nest—broke the silence. From this buzzing, Hakkai could, now and again, hear the word 'youkai.'

And at least two guests had bolted for the staircase.

"Would you mind explaining this law to us, sir?" he asked, his concern skillfully hidden. "We've just arrived in your town; we know nothing of your laws."

The clerk hesitated, then gestured to the door. It was obvious he did not want to cause a nastier scene. "If you please … let's talk outside."

Hakkai preceded him into the front garden, practically dragging along an outraged Gojyo.

"Do I have your word that this youkai isn't going to attack me?" the clerk demanded, keeping close to the door.

Hakkai tried to bow again. "You have my word, mister…"

"Ji Hui, sir," the clerk muttered.

"Ji Hui-san. I'm Cho Hakkai. You have my word, as well as my friend's."

Gojyo merely glowered. Under the lanterns that swung in the summer night's breeze, his red eyes seemed ablaze.

"Right," Ji Hui said, grimacing. "Youkai are _not _welcome in our town. We dealt with such a plague many years ago and right in time, no doubt! We may be isolated from the rest of the world, sir, but we know that now they've started a war against humans. We always knew of their wicked appetites, so the news of them having developed a taste for human flesh was nothing but expected—"

"It's true that some youkai went mad recently," Hakkai remarked, cutting off the ranting, "but it's also true that there are others who live and work among humans without causing any trouble."

"Not the ones we had here, sir!" Ji Hui said with a zealot's vehemence. "All they wanted to do was destroy things, get drunk, harass women, or open their legs to anyone who was willing … well, you _know_. They killed and stole and, uh, engaged in carnal activities as naturally as we humans breathe. Ask the older people in this town. Almost every family has a violent tale involving a youkai." He sniffed, wrinkling his bulbous nose. "Anyway. Our council ended up banning the creatures. They can't roam our streets or buy in our markets or enter our houses."

Hakkai bit the inside of his mouth, Hakuryu's heat against his neck helping him to keep his anger at bay. It was not the first time they faced prejudice and, certainly, it would not be the last. The fairy tale about peaceful coexistence in Togenkyo was nothing more than that, a fairy tale. Half-bloods like Gojyo would be able to write tome upon tome about humans' and youkai's supposed tolerance of each other. The Madness had only exposed a canker that had always grown in the shadows.

But why was only Gojyo a 'youkai' to this man? Why not himself? Why not Goku?

Generally, humans _knew_. Felt. Reacted.

"Youkai are nothing but trouble, sir," Ji Hui said. "And you can be arrested if you're caught with one in most of our districts."

Gojyo huffed and bared his teeth theatrically. The clerk jumped backwards with an undignified squeak.

"Gojyo!" Hakkai chided, causing Hakuryu to flutter his wings, alarmed.

"Don't worry, I won't eat him," Gojyo said as he wet his chapped lips with studied malice. "I'm on a low fat diet right now."

"Gojyo, honestly!" Hakkai's attempted glare came over as a weary squint and, he was certain, it was this detail that made Gojyo restrain himself from more silly and potentially dangerous provocations.

Chastised, the kappa lowered his head.

"Ji Hui-san, there must be some place where we won't bother anyone," Hakkai insisted, putting a hand on Gojyo's good arm to comfort him. "We don't intend to stay here for life; all we need is a place to spend the night. We will leave your town tomorrow, and I assure you that it will remain exactly the way it is now."

"Sir, as I said before, we have _laws_ here! Youkai _cannot _wander around as they please, they must have a special pass. And, most certainly, they don't enter inns to try and rent rooms where real people bathe, eat, and sleep! The demons that live here have their own area, but it's not like you can simply go there without official permission." He glanced at Gojyo, then refocused his attention on Hakkai. It was like the sight of all that red hair hurt his eyes. "And since the office that provides these documents is already closed for the day and it'll be closed tomorrow because of the festivities, I strongly suggest that you take your friend and go back to wherever you came from. You've both been lucky until now, I suppose, in not being arrested. A party isn't a good enough reason to risk one's life—"

"Party?" Hakkai repeated bleakly, his mind reeling. "We're not here for that; it was just a coincidence that we arrived in this town during a holiday."

Ji Hui sucked his teeth. "I see. Well, tomorrow it's our Summer Festival and we have many visitors, as you've certainly noticed. The float parades mainly take place in the northeast district, though, so they tend to concentrate there—as well as the patrols that keep everyone in line. Things can get unruly sometimes." A crashing noise coming from inside the house made him turn to the door anxiously. "I must go; I can't leave my desk unattended for so long."

"Ji Hui, wait!" Hakkai begged. "Why do you think _he _is a youkai?" It was a ridiculous question—Gojyo's tabooed coloring was impossible to hide, even in the darkest night—but they had to understand these humans' peculiar brand of logic.

"Red eyes," came the cold answer, "among other traits, when one looks more closely. They are indeed different from _us_."

Hakkai was startled out of his stupor by Gojyo's mirthless laughter.

"Well, it seems this noble establishment is off limits for this particular youkai," Gojyo mimicked the clerk's pompous inflection, adding just the right amount of contempt when pronouncing the last word. "Hakkai, you go ahead and have your bath and your bed. I'm out of here." And he whirled around, striding to the open gate.

"Gojyo, don't!" Hakkai called. "Gojyo! Wait! Where are you going?"

Without turning, Gojyo waved his hand in the air.

For a split second Hakkai stood there, divided, not wanting to depend on the clerk to warn the others about their difficulty, but knowing that he should not leave Gojyo alone. Not in these circumstances. "Ji Hui-san," he said in a rushed voice, "can you tell my friends that we _won't_ be able to stay here? Please, it's very important."

"I'll pass your message to the lad," Ji Hui responded. "The monk asked not to be disturbed. By anyone. Good-bye, sir." And he entered the house, locking the lacquered door.

Frustrated, Hakkai chased Gojyo back to the park. Hakuryu shrieked once and nestled closer to his now trotting perch. "Gojyo!" Hakkai shouted. "We have to wait for Sanzo and Goku! Gojyo!"

Gojyo halted and sat heavily on a fairly secluded stone bench, unceremoniously throwing the bag that he still carried to the ground. Hakkai caught up with him shortly afterwards, patting an indignant Hakuryu on the head.

"Hakkai, why don't you go fetch Goku from the kitchen of that dump?" Gojyo fumbled through his pockets and fished out his cigarettes and lighter. "The _baka _is going to give himself away if he eats these people's entire food supply."

"Gojyo, I'm not leaving you here alone. What will you do if the soldiers—"

"Hakkai. I can take care of myself. Do you think I'm afraid of a few humans? I'm not a kid."

"Neither is Goku." An abrupt flash of anger at being stuck in such a ridiculous quagmire, made Hakkai lash out, "And no, you can _not_ take care of yourself. You haven't taken proper care of yourself for the last month, so it's obvious that you need a babysitter."

Silence.

Only crickets and distant music could be heard now.

With slow, controlled movements, Gojyo lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. "I thought we were going to have this conversation tomorrow morning?" he murmured, his eyes averted.

"I… Gojyo…" Mortified, Hakkai crumbled onto the bench. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's okay. Forget it."

Nothing more was said. Both youkai began watching the inn. And as Hakkai waited for Sanzo and Goku to emerge so they could go back to the torturous main road, he wondered how he could ever have thought that things were back to normal with the Sanzo-ikkou.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

The first thing Ji Hui noticed when he entered the hall were the shards of the inn's prized vase on the floor. A fat woman tried to calm down a hysterical little girl—not the first trouble this particular pair had caused, either—as guests left their rooms and gathered on the staircase, watching the scene with frightened faces. Undoubtedly, news of the 'youkai invasion' had already been broadcast throughout the whole house.

"Ji Hui! Where were you?"

Ji Hui whirled around, bowing quickly to hide his grimace. "Gao-sama," he murmured in a respectful tone. "We had an incident. I had to—"

"An incident involving a demon, so I was told," Gao interrupted, reaching out and pinching Ji Hui's arm. Gao was the current owner's son-in-law, and notorious for his bad temper; since he had taken up management life had grown increasingly difficult. "And what did _you_ do? Walked away with the creature, to have a chat in the garden! Are you also a youkai lover besides being an incompetent?"

Ji Hui cringed but did not pull his arm free. Both the aggression and the insult were vicious, as all Gao's public rebukes tended to be, but at least Gao was keeping his voice low. Even _he_ knew that the ambience had been disturbed enough.

"I thought it would be less traumatic if I dealt with the situation outside, sir," Ji Hui said softly. "I was just trying to avoid a—"

"You, manager!" the fat woman thundered. "Why did you place that stupid vase there? This is a passage area! My daughter may have broken her nose! Look at it! Look! I think it's broken!"

"It was not only her nose that your daughter broke, was it?" Gao retorted, his hand still on Ji Hui's arm, ready to punish. "Do you have any idea of that antique's value?"

The woman pulled her child closer. "How can you talk about money, when my daughter—"

"—is also dripping blood on my floor?" Gao lifted an eyebrow derisively. "I suggest that you see to that. Unless you're willing to replace some of my floorboards, too?"

The woman let out an indignant huff, grabbed the child, and hurried upstairs.

"Now, do we have witnesses to that pest's stunt?" Gao asked, freeing Ji Hui's arm with a shove.

"Sir, the youkai was quite civil—"

"I'm not talking about the youkai, you idiot! I'm talking about _that _pest. The child. I saw her running up and down the stairs this morning. She was probably having another go and bumped into the vase."

Ji Hui swallowed dry. "I can't tell you what happened, sir, but I'm sure someone else—"

"I'm not paying 'someone else,' old man," Gao said ominously. "I'm paying _you _to sit your fat ass in that chair. Is it too much for you to do? Because there are people out there who would be very glad to take on your job."

"Gao-sama, we had a _youkai_ here!" Ji Hui replied, almost at the end of his tether. "How could I—"

"Yes, so we had a youkai here. Of all the improbable, absurd, fucking freakish things to happen today, we had a demon barging into our house. You should have sent it away immediately, locked the door, and told Bai to call the soldiers."

Ji Hui pressed his hands together.

"Don't you realize that you endangered our lives?" Gao continued hotly. "While you were chatting in the garden with the youkai's friend, the door remained open! The youkai could have come back in at will, and the Summer Festival Banquet would have begun early—with us as the main dish!"

Ji Hui lowered his head.

Yes, he had been stupid. Yes, the demon could have done all this, if it had wanted. But it had been extraordinarily well mannered for its kind, even when Ji Hui had explained to its friend how things worked in the town—and though he had only spoken the truth, Ji Hui knew that it was a very offensive truth if you were a youkai.

"You're a stupid ass, Ji Hui. I never had any doubts about that, but thanks for confirming it day after day after—"

"Gao-sama, please—"

"Spare me your excuses, you pathetic old fart. You're an ass and a waste of money. And don't interrupt me again!"

And as Ji Hui stood there, listening meekly to whatever insult or accusation Gao decided to throw at him, an image from his childhood took shape in his mind. The one of the willowy lady with red eyes and silvery hair, gliding through this very room in her scented silks. _Hui-chan, this is for you_,she had said in one dark afternoon. _A good luck talisman,_ _ne?_ He had seen her many times, but that autumn had been the last. Back then, the town was still only a prosperous village, the inn was a traditional house, and his late father had run it with an iron hand. And Ji Hui—only five years old but yet always proper and respectful—would clean and dust every little thing, dreaming of growing up to follow in his father's footsteps.

And the lady, Lien… She had always been so kind. She would bring him sweets and help him feed the carp in the backyard pond. _Ah, Ji-sama, your boy is so polite! He could be in the court and he would not make a bad figure!_ His father would bow and thank her for her nice words, his face perpetually grim when she was around. Once, little Ji Hui had asked him why he did not like her. _Youkai_, his father had answered curtly and Ji Hui had asked no more. There were rumors about youkai circulating everywhere, tales full of blood. Youkai drank, stole, murdered. The council was trying to ban all youkai from the area. There were also discussions about rights and lands. About money. It was too much for a child to understand. The fact was that Lien had not returned that year. Or the next. Or ever again. Only when he was an adult did Ji Hui come to know fully about her fate; but, by that time, it had not mattered anymore. He had kept her good luck talisman for years until the day, after hearing about youkai cruelty and youkai sorcery for far too long, he had hurled it into a gorge outside town. There was regret afterwards, and several times he had gone back to that place, trying to rescue the only piece of magic that his life had ever had. And Buddha knew how he had lacked luck since then.

"Now fetch a broom and clean this mess, you fucking moron," Gao ordered. "Or is it too much to ask of you?"

"I'm sorry, Gao-sama."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

Goku slouched at the massive kitchen table while the two maids cheered and applauded his antics with noodles and a bucket of honey.

"Oh, Goku-sama, tell us again about the sea. Is it true that it's salty?"

"Give him a rest, Jen! Goku-sama, would you like more rice?"

Goku smiled and nodded, most of his attention taken. Who would have guessed that noodles and honey could be such a nice combination?

"I cooked that, Goku-sama," curvy Shun said. "Is it good? Tasty?"

He nodded again and eyed greedily the bucket of honey. He was already reaching for it when an older woman came in from the backyard and hustled the girls to a corner, starting a whispered conversation.

"Are you sure, Liu Mei-sama?" the thin one, Jen, asked at some length. "A _youkai_?"

At the word, Goku sighed and made a conscious effort to break the honey's luring call. He hoped they would not have trouble here; all he wanted tonight was eat, have a bath, eat some more, and go to sleep.

"It's not possible!" Shun blurted out, her hands resting on her generous hips. "You mean… It just came in, Liu Mei-sama? The gall of the thing!"

"Yes, yes, but keep your voice down, please," the older woman answered, glancing at Goku over her shoulder. "It's gone now, and Gao-sama already sent for the soldiers. But eyes open, girls, eyes open. You _know_ how the filthy demons are..."

Goku shrugged and took up his dinner again. He certainly hoped these humans _knew_ how a certain filthy Monkey King was. "More?" he demanded, pointing at his empty bowl. Then, remembering Sanzo's lessons—and Sanzo's fan—he added a quick, wishful, "Please?"

It was the cue for the older woman to leave, mumbling about 'bathtubs' and 'blond monks.' Goku chuckled. It seemed Sanzo had found himself another devout admirer. Pity that Sanzo did not take jokes on the subject very well—or on any other, for that matter.

"Here you are, Goku-sama," Shun said, laying a bigger bowl on the table. "I've served you rice again. A generous portion, as you can see." And she bumped Goku's chair with her hips.

"Uh? Oh, yes," he purred, delighted. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," both girls answered, then giggled. They had been shy in the beginning, furtively observing from afar as Goku kept devouring everything they offered him. After a while, they had started lingering at his side, asking him questions about his travels and endless appetite. Now, they fussed and fawned over him like a pair of overexcited birds. Jen seemed quite naive in her curiosity, but Shun, with her long hair barely hidden beneath a yellow kerchief, was definitely steering her boat into naughty waters. Fascinated, Goku tried to imitate Gojyo and his special way of dealing with the ladies; and it was amusing to play the grown man and be treated like one for a change.

Remembering his earlier dehydrated state, he stood up, headed to a counter where jugs and baskets neatly sat, and gulped down an entire pitcher of water. Then, reaching into a basket, he grabbed an orange and bit directly into its skin. The sweet juice ran along his chin, pooled in his hand, and trickled inside the sleeve of his jacket, slowly finding its way to his elbow. Such bliss almost made the ordeal of their long day worthwhile. Almost.

A sudden loud crash coming from the hall made the girls jump up, screeching. Stunned, Goku froze in place, the orange still stuck in his teeth, as the older woman rushed in again.

"Liu Mei-san, don't go there," Shun pleaded in a high-pitched tone. "It's the youkai! It has come back!"

But the woman had already disappeared into the passageway. For a whole minute the trio stared in silence after her and when she re-entered the kitchen shaking her head, the two girls sighed, obviously relieved.

"Don't worry," Liu Mei said, waving her hands in the air. "It's only _that _awful child again. She broke the old vase, the big one near the stairs, and maybe her nose. It serves her right. Ji Hui-sama will be so angry! You know how he is—was—with it." She bowed to Goku. "Excuse us for disturbing your dinner, Honorable Guest; tonight is being quite unusual. You're with the young monk, _ne_? I'm helping him in the bathhouse. Do you think he'll like a massage?" And she headed to the backyard without waiting for an answer, a very unprofessional glint in her eyes.

Goku took his seat once more and finally spat out the orange. It landed into his rice bowl with a thud. The maids looked at each other, laughed nervously, and resumed chatting and providing him food.

"Try this now, Goku-sama," Jen coaxed when Goku finished a particularly noisy session with a bowlful of spiced soup. "It's…" Goku looked up when she trailed off. The querulous clerk—the one who had frowned deeply when Sanzo, dirty robe still on, had first barged into the inn demanding rooms—was at the door.

Shun, who had her back to the entrance, leaned on the table, dipped a raw carrot into the bucket of honey and licked it. "Why, Go-chan, after watching you eat so many different things, I decided to try them myself. Hmm, delicious! Want a bite?" Goku tasted the carrot she offered him, eyes still locked with the clerk's. "Uh? Go-chan? What…" Alarmed, Shun turned to the door. "Ji Hui-sama!" she squeaked. "I… We…"

"Shouldn't you be preparing meals for the Festival tomorrow?" the clerk barked. "Who is attending to the monk in the backyard?"

Goku frowned, still chewing his bite of carrot. Oh, well. Now that Querulous-san had come to ruin the congenial atmosphere, it was time to have a warm, relaxing bath. He would pay the kitchen another visit later.

"Liu Mei-san is helping the monk, Ji Hui-sama," Shun said, wiping her hand on her considerable rear. "She also told us that Gao-sama called the soldiers, because of a youk–– "

The clerk grunted loudly, cutting off any further explanations. "Liu Mei-san tells everybody too much, it seems," he scolded. "There was an accident in the hall. Bring me a broom." And as the girls hesitated, not knowing which one of them he was addressing, Ji Hui thundered a "Now!" that made both flee, terrified.

"That wasn't very nice, was it?" Goku said, rolling his half-chewed orange on the table and catching it again when it made a semicircle. "There was no need to scream. The girls were just—"

"Are you going to teach me how to deal with my employees?" Ji Hui walked over to Goku, who tensed, expecting violence. "I've been doing my job since way before you were born, boy."

Goku chuckled at that. "No, I don't think so. But then—"

"I have a message from your friend," Ji Hui interrupted in a lower voice. "You know, the dark-haired gentleman you greeted before coming in here."

"Hakkai?" Goku said, uninterested, scratching his head with gusto. A bath. He definitely needed a bath. "Yeah, I suppose he's a 'gentleman.' What—"

"He said he was going to wait for you outside. You have to go to him, immediately. He… He's alone there with the youkai. I believe they're in the park now."

"What do you mean? Hakkai is a––"

"Listen to me, boy!" Ji Hui hissed, balling his fists. "This is serious! Didn't you hear what that woman said? Our manager sent for the soldiers. Go and tell your friends. Tell them that the council has been executing youkai in this town since I was a child."

Goku gaped at the clerk, then bolted for the door, knocking over his chair in the process.

**o o o**

Alone now, Ji Hui waited for several long seconds, frozen in his position over the table.

He had seen it.

Buddha, he had certainly seen it.

Those eyes… Those light brown eyes had glinted as if lit from inside. And the energy… He had felt energy being charged and put at its owner's disposal.

Youkai!

But they all had red eyes, didn't they? Red, fiery, demonic eyes. Like those burning in the gaunt face of the monster he was inexplicably trying to save. Like Lien's. He still remembered her eyes, and her green silks, framed by the wisteria in the backyard. He still remembered her soft voice. _Do you see those, Hui-chan? They are called swans. Aren't they beautiful? _And the boy he had been a long, long time ago, had looked at the sky in awe, thinking her more beautiful and more perfect than the distant, immaculate white birds.

Shakily, he reached inside a pocket and took hold of a simulacrum of her talisman. It was a dark round stone, found near the gorge where he had hurled away the precious gift of his childhood. Closing his hand firmly over the smooth object, Ji Hui murmured, for the first time, a prayer for a long-dead friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

Sanzo stood very still in the center of the cubicle, looking blankly at the vapor coiling under the low roof. He had come directly to the bathhouse after securing his team rooms for the night—he did not need the others near him, he did not even want to hear _his_ voice. So, basically, he had fled to the backyard and hidden himself after ordering the hovering maid to use all the wood she could manage to heat his bathtub. Now the water was hot to the point of hurting. Exactly how he wanted it.

He blinked, willing the trance away, then headed to a corner and started to undress. Every movement had to be carefully controlled, since it was almost impossible to move his neck. Too much tension. Too much anger. He discarded his robe on the floor and was fingering the buttons of his shirt when the woman returned, bringing soap and towels.

"You can leave now," Sanzo told her without looking up.

"Sir, may I help you with your back? Wouldn't you like a massage?"

"No."

"But…" The woman trailed off as Sanzo dropped his shirt onto a cedar bench. "What—what about your clothes, sir? Don't you want them washed? I could clean your boots—"

"Leave."

"Ah, but…" Sanzo Glared at her and she bowed, flustered. "As you wish, sir. If you need anything, anything at all, just call me. My name is Liu Mei." Sanzo did not acknowledge her and she went to the door, lingering there for a moment before exiting the bathhouse. "Liu Mei, sir," her voice floated in from the outside. "Don't forget."

Sanzo gritted his teeth at her petulance—one more insult to complement his day—and took off his gun, stashing it under his shirt on the bench. Trousers and underwear followed suit, and then he was in the vat-like tub, not having bothered to clean the grime away first or give himself time to grow accustomed with punishingly hot water. And that was all right, for he did not want niceties right now; what he did want, what he did _need_, was to assert control over the treacherous flesh that ached, that coveted, that craved, that was agonizingly driving him mad.

He laughed—a pathetic sound that ended in a frustrated sob—closed his eyes, and passively let the pain eclipse any sensual relief brought by the act of soaking tired limbs in scented warmth.

_Damn him! I should have killed him that day. I'm going to kill him! I should have killed him. I'm going to kill him. I should. I'm going to. Kill him. Kill. Him. Kill— _

_Breathe_, he told himself._ Calm yourself!_

Impossible.

He felt too ashamed. And unspeakably enraged. There was also a bottomless chasm of hatred, on which brittle edge he precariously tried to balance, dreading the plunge, but still unable to take his eyes off the beckoning abyss.

_You must concentrate! Breathe! _

He was a rational person. He was the one always in control. He _would_ win this battle. He was going to compel submission from his body.

When does one stop appreciating something beautiful for its purely aesthetic value and start to pine for it with an addict's despair? It had been like that with Gojyo: red hair shining in the sun, red eyes raising to him with laughter, gracious, long-fingered hands fluttering to punctuate sentences and moods. Sanzo had been surreptitiously appreciating the work of art that was Gojyo since they had begun their journey together. But it was nothing sexual—no more than gazing at colorful butterflies against a blue sky or at snow painting a landscape white. Sometimes Sanzo would look at Gojyo and let his heart sing its joyful notes; the same anthem that it resounded when he rested his eyes on the world's many wonders that had, in and of themselves, the absolute and timeless mystery of Beauty.

Because Genjo Sanzo was not a man of passion. He manipulated at his convenience the teachings of Buddha, but always to reach a calculated goal. He did not kill because he enjoyed the power it gave him—he had a quest to fulfill, a quest bestowed upon him by the very gods. He slept with men and women not because he, a male in his prime, was unable to resist his own urges—sex was a relaxing exercise and an hour spent with a stranger, though abhorring the proximity, helped him to keep his body in harmony with his mind. And though he preferred men, he had never considered his teammates as potential partners. It would not be practical. It would not be wise. And if he had to take one of them as his lover, he would choose Hakkai. The practical one. The wise one. Goku… Sanzo hated admitting to _that_,but he had paternal feelings towards the monkey. As for Gojyo… Gojyo was beautiful, yes, the most beautiful man Sanzo ever had seen, but he did not like Gojyo at all. Gojyo was childish, annoying, opinionated, and not very bright. Gojyo had no self-control, and his destructive personality was mirrored in his several vices. Gojyo was a colorful, exotic fruit whose dazzling skin hid a gray, dull, rotten core.

But some two months ago…

They had been stranded in the middle of nowhere and the afternoon had been hot and exacting—a prelude to what was to come during the summer. Sanzo had decided to set camp at a lake by a pine grove, desperate for some Goku-free time; and as Hakkai cooked dinner, the other two had gone for a swim. Used to his demons' immature games, Sanzo had not found it difficult to block them out and enjoy the scenery as it changed colors with the dimming light. And when Hakkai announced that dinner was ready, he had gone to sit by the fire, taking their map to study possible new routes. Not surprisingly, Goku had rushed to them, shaking off water like a wet dog. Then … Gojyo. Flawless flesh, all smooth fluid lines, the wet hair glistening on his shoulders like flowing living blood. Naked. Beautiful. Perfect. Gojyo, framed by that infinite sky.

Gojyo had glided over to them perfectly at ease with his body, those siren eyes locking with Sanzo's over the fire as he sat. Hakkai and Goku had laughed, and joked, but Sanzo could only stare back. Caught on Gojyo's eyelashes, a droplet of water sparkled like a diamond—and Sanzo had felt his body waken immediately. Embarrassed and angry, he had lashed out, their wet map being the pretext.

He had not been able to sleep that night, the greedy pain in his groin an alien and detested new feeling. They had been naked in front of each other many times, true—the quest had forced upon all of them an unwanted, inevitable intimacy. But that sight… That sight had hungered him in an unprecedented way. And in the wee hours, after being sure his group was indeed asleep, Sanzo had walked into the lake to subdue his desire. With powerful strokes he reached what seemed to be the center of the black waters, and there he stayed, afloat between two fathomless voids, peering at the stars. Aware that the darkness below was ready to drown his body, as Gojyo would drown his mind if given the opportunity.

In sudden panic, he had hurried back to the bank, still aching. And, like the debased animal he felt he was now, had rubbed himself to completion. He had remained sitting numbly on the mud afterwards, wondering if the Sanzo-ikkou would be the same again in the morning.

It was not.

Not the following morning and not since ever again.

He ended up setting for himself a torturous routine. By day, he hid under his cold facade, strengthening his walls the best way he could against Gojyo's face, Gojyo's body, Gojyo's voice, Gojyo's laughter. Against Gojyo framed by a red sky. By day he tried to be an unwavering leader for his team. By night, though… By night he tried to possess Gojyo in recurrent nightmares. He would thrust his cock into Gojyo's face, into Gojyo's body, into Gojyo's voice, into Gojyo's laughter, amidst distorted, bizarre visions of water on fire—and every time, Gojyo and himself would blister and burst into sizzling embers before any climax was reached. He would wake up frightened, confused, and invariably with a painful erection. Sleeping near his teammates was no longer an option, so he searched for secluded areas to unfold his bedding when they had to camp. Better to be caught alone by some demented youkai than to be heard moaning Gojyo's name in his sleep.

He had taken lovers to purge this plague from his body. In fact, he had had more lovers during the two weeks following the incident at the lake than in the entire previous year: the primal beast that had nested itself within his heart and that constantly went down to feed between his legs, howled and clawed at his very soul for more. But now, his anonymous partners wore Gojyo's face, Gojyo's body, Gojyo's voice, Gojyo's laughter. They were all Gojyo framed by a red sky. Soon enough Sanzo had stopped looking for substitutes, for he would only be contented with the template itself. And because Gojyo knew.

The kappa had perceived the ogling that Sanzo had so desperately tried to keep discreet. And, shameless creature that he was, had decided to add a new rhythm to their dance. Gojyo had begun to flirt with him; every look, every gesture, every word had a 'come hither' in them. _The whore!_ If Sanzo had been mortified by the secret when it was only his own, now he was totally humiliated. Gojyo was willing, and let Sanzo know he was willing whenever he could. _The slut!_ Gojyo was driving him crazy, but Sanzo had a weapon to put him in his due place: his rage. The measureless, all-consuming rage that had been increasing in intensity along with his desire. This feeling was his own, unlike the foreign thing that devoured him from the inside.

Gojyo had widened those alluring eyes of his, not understanding Sanzo's harsh treatment, Sanzo's cruel rebukes, Sanzo's aversion—_The stupid half-breed!—_before giving almost as good as he received. The clashes between them had become full of spiteful, furious words; not that Gojyo had a chance of winning any of them. What were his feeble attempts at offense compared to Sanzo's heavy artillery? Sanzo did not pull his punches, and his blows were always aimed to inflict maximum damage. The turnabout was not so unexpected when it came: Gojyo had started conceding without too much fuss to the alpha male of his pack.

And then there was guilt. Gojyo felt guilty, Sanzo knew. Guilty for believing he had seen too much in some clandestine glances. Guilty for ruining something that could even be deemed friendship because he was just a cheap demon wanting a cheap lay. And was it not charming that the whole situation had awoken all the whore's self-destructive modes? Gojyo was losing weight—weight he could not afford to lose. He did not joke, or tease Goku, or run after women any more. He cast wounded glances at Sanzo all the time, drinking and smoking as if he were trying to blast his liver and lungs, or whichever gave up first. And Sanzo basked in the intensity of his agony. It was difficult, really difficult to hide things from a person as sensitive as Hakkai, but they had been making such noise over the past month, that even a scatterbrain like Goku was paying attention.

When, during a lazy afternoon, they were ambushed by youkai on the outskirts of a farm, Sanzo had plunged into the fight growling like a wild animal. He had killed and rejoiced in doing so; to him, every demon he put down was the maddening kappa; every pair of red eyes left staring blindly at nothing were Gojyo's. Before long, he stood alone in the barley field, his share of enemies already cooling on the ground. And as they had been separated during the combat, he had to go after the rest of his team—for a certain member of his team, more specifically. He had found Gojyo outside an old cellar, cornered by a huge youkai waving a club studded with spikes—undoubtedly the weapon that had been used to tear open the little shit's left arm from shoulder to wrist. Sanzo had halted, petrified, seeing all that precious blood flow. An inane observation—_Like his hair that night in_ _the lake—_was quickly replaced by an endless loop of darker thoughts—_If he dies, I'm free. If he dies, it's_ _over. If he dies… _If. Soon, Gojyo's movements became uncoordinated, and his attacker started playing cat-and-mouse with him, delaying the fatal blow. Slowly, as if moving under water, Sanzo had raised his gun and aimed between Gojyo's eyes. A bullet there and he would really see past the beautiful skin of his exotic fruit. A bullet and he would see with his own eyes the gray, dull, rotten core of Gojyo's brain.

Gojyo spotted him standing next to that tree, and the relief on his face had been almost comical. Sanzo had looked directly at him, snickered and shot. The Changed youkai fell, convulsing and gurgling. Sanzo shot again. And then there was only silence as he kept his eyes on Gojyo's, his personal bad omen, his nemesis, his destroyer. When gratitude started to seep through their connection, Sanzo whirled around, calling for Hakkai and Goku. The next day he had steered them all to the Temple of the Soul's Retreat. He needed peace. He needed to find himself again. For he had really considered murdering a member of his team. _I wanted to kill Gojyo!_

Shame. Horror. Anger at himself.

And at Gojyo.

When he recalled the previous night…

Still immersed in hot water, Sanzo chortled humorlessly. "I should have killed you that day, you worthless bastard!" he muttered. "Not with my gun. Oh, no. With my own bare hands."

A crash coming from the house promptly sobered him. He pushed himself out of the bathtub and went to pick up his dirty clothes. And his gun.

The fresh breeze was a balm to his smarting skin. He took several deep breaths and crossed the yard—surprisingly the servant, Liu Mei, was not loitering nearby. To his right, in a room a little detached from the rest of the house, he could see Goku through an open door, a whole orange in his mouth, staring owlishly at something or someone. Then, Liu Mei filled the door of what was evidently the kitchen with her plump body.

"Ah, sir!" she said, smiling at him. "Don't mind the noise; we've only had a minor accident. A child broke a vase in the hall and ended up hurting herself."

Sanzo grunted.

"Did you enjoy your bath?" she went on. "I could have helped you—"

"Where's my room?" Sanzo interrupted.

"Upstairs, sir. You don't have to go back inside to get there, we have a little staircase behind the pond, so our customers can go directly from the bathhouse to their rooms without––"

"Show me my room."

She did. She would have offered to bring him his dinner, too, but he closed the door in her face. Liu Mei went back to her chores, shaking her head and telling herself that truly beautiful men did not need manners at all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 **

Gojyo looked around for the umpteenth time and took a nervous drag from his cigarette. The silent wait was making him terribly restless; if he were not so tired and sore and miserable, he would be pacing by now. He kicked some of the loose pebbles that filled the pathways of the park and most hit his own bag with puny, dissatisfying noises.

Intent on the inn, Hakkai startled at the abrupt movement and turned briefly, a flicker of sadness in his eye. "Did it bother you?" he whispered.

"What?" Gojyo stopped fidgeting. "Did what bother me?"

Hakkai sighed, petted Hakuryu, now curled on his lap, and went back to watching the entrance. "The fact that they only recognized you as a youkai. After all, out of the three of us—"

"No. I don't care about any of that. You know me."

"Do I?"

Gojyo snickered, shaking his head.

"What about… Me not saying that I am one, too?" Hakkai continued slowly. "I just stood there and let that man say those hurtful things."

Gojyo made an impatient gesture with his hand, the lit cigarette tracing a bright arc in the air. Hakkai had strange ideas about how humans and youkai should coexist—having been the former and now living as the latter had certainly contributed to giving him unique beliefs. "Hakkai," he chided, "I suppose it's your weariness talking. Or you had too much sun on your head today. Do you think I expected you to raise your hand and say 'Hey, I'm a youkai too, so watch your tongue?' That would be a really stupid thing to do."

"Yes. But you would not have been alone there."

_I'm always alone there_, Gojyo wanted to answer. Hakkai's experiences had offered him a taste of the bitterness, but not the full cup. As a human or as a youkai—and a powerful youkai at that—Hakkai had always been able to find himself a place. A certain Sha Gojyo merely gravitated from one world's orbit to the other, belonging to neither, despised and hated by both. A non-person. A pariah. A child of taboo.

Yes, it had mattered once. No, it did not matter anymore. Nobody else cared, anyway.

Nobody except Jien, who had disappeared.

Nobody except this wonderful, supportive friend.

"Hakkai…" And Gojyo's voice broke, giving the name a new inflection. "Don't beat yourself up over this shit, eh?" An awkward pause. "But thanks."

"For what?" Hakkai whispered, sounding angry. "For being conniving—"

"For caring."

Silence.

"I do care, Gojyo. Very much." And the admission sounded … hopeless.

"I know. I wish I could—"

Hakkai covered his dirty monocle with his right hand. "Is it me or is this town full of little black dots floating everywhere?"

Gojyo left his cigarette hanging from his mouth, assuming his easygoing posture, relieved that they would not probe deeper issues right now. Better to keep pretending. Better to keep trying on mask after mask after mask. Why not? Perhaps all their problems would simply go away, like Jien had simply gone away. "It's only you, I suppose," he drawled, relaxing a little into his comfortable role. "Black dots aren't fashionable this summer."

The insouciant reply was not met with the customary, and wittier, comment. Hakkai leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and started rubbing his temples in slow circles.

Gojyo frowned, the persona he had called forth already slipping out of his grasp. "Hey! Are you all right? Hakkai?"

"Yes, thank you. Just … headachy. I drove with the sun directly in my eye all afternoon."

Gojyo stilled as anger swelled, choking him. Contrary to himself, who was never able to hide his misery, and to Goku, who shamelessly whined about his, Hakkai would bravely resist youkai ambushes, forced marches under sun or snowstorms, and last, but by no means least, Sanzo's temper—which could surpass in ruthlessness any obstacle or drawback they might find along their way. Hakkai had not complained once during this nightmarish day, but he was probably the one who had suffered the most. Too much light, too much dust, too much strain… Gojyo bit his cigarette, almost severing it in half. Sanzo knew better than this. Sanzo knew. And still… "Sanzo is a bastard!" He threw the cigarette on the ground and smashed it with a loud stomp.

Hakkai peered at him from under his fingers, secretive smile in place. "Honestly, Gojyo! How can you have such a low opinion of our kind, benevolent, fucking bastard holy monk?"

Gojyo hiccupped, surprised at hearing that lilting voice swear, and they chuckled together, accomplices in the immature, pressure-relieving joke. The amusement did not last long, though; soon enough, Hakkai was focusing his attention back on the inn, while Gojyo studied his worn-out boots.

Suddenly, the night sky burst with colors. Gojyo tilted his head upwards to watch the fireworks. _Sanzo, _he called mutely. _You mean, selfish son of a bitch. _

And from a stinking room of a little thatched house, Sanzo stared back at him, his face totally open for once. So stunned that it would have been funny in other circumstances. Or if the hurt flaring in those eyes could have been ignored. Gojyo had lost count of how many times he had replayed this very scene in his head all day long, his own despair growing at each repetition.

_Oh gods, Sanzo! I'm sorry, so very sorry, and I don't know how to say this to you. I know you won't listen and I know you won't forgive; you never do. Now you hate me. _

"Hakuryu, stay there, please."

Gojyo looked down, puzzled. Hakkai was now gently pushing Hakuryu under their bench, his expression serious. Gojyo opened his mouth to ask Hakkai what he was doing, when he caught movement out of the corner of his right eye. Shadows. Several shadows closing in on them.

His hiss of "Hakkai!" was met with a comforting touch on one knee.

"I know. They have been here for a while. There are four coming from my side. Six from yours. And I can feel others. Ahead. Behind. It seems that the soldiers have found us."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 **

Hakkai took a deep breath and schooled his face into neutrality. Men in dark clothes surrounded him and Gojyo, stalking over to their bench without bothering to hide in the shadows any more—most with weapons already drawn.

"Hakkai, they have firearms!" Gojyo muttered, his voice uneasy.

"Yes," Hakkai said, willing his heart to slow down its frantic drumming. These people might have guns, but they were still mere humans. "Gojyo, listen to me," he said urgently. "Let me do all the talking. Do you understand? Do _not_ make any sudden moves. And do _not_ speak without being told. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but—"

One of the soldiers, obviously the leader of the group, halted directly opposite their bench and folded his arms. The others maintained their distance, some appearing to be quite nervous. "Well, well, well, and what do we have here?" the leader drawled, sparing Gojyo a glance before fixing scornful eyes on Hakkai. "A boy walking his youkai pet in the park. What a touching scene!"

Hakkai stood carefully. "Good evening, sir," he said in a calm, polite tone. "I'm Cho Hakkai. I didn't know that youkai weren't allowed—"

"—in this town?" the leader interrupted. "In this whole area? In this fucking world? Too bad, Cho Hakkai. I suppose you don't have any papers for your … friend, then?"

"No, sir," Hakkai answered placidly. "I apologize for any inconvenience that our presence might have caused you, but there were no warnings. We just—"

"There are no warnings because they aren't needed, punk," the soldier countered. "People and demons know better. And since you allegedly don't, I wonder if you aren't with the scum who raves about youkai rights and the wrongness and wickedness of our policy. Maybe you decided to make a statement against it by causing tumult on the eve of our most important holiday, eh? You aren't the first troublemaker we have here, either."

"Sir, we are travelers." Hakkai spread his arms apart with a self-depreciative smile. "We know nobody in your town and we know nothing about its policy. In truth, we did not even know of your town until we saw it from the main road. It was not my purpose, nor my companion's, to bother you in any way; we just wanted a place to spend the night before resuming our journey, first thing in the morning. Since our presence is not welcome here, we will leave."

"Oh, really?" the soldier purred, looking around. "And you like to argue, eh, punk? You like fancy words and the sound of your own voice."

"No, sir. You made a wrong assumption about us and I merely addressed the issue—"

"And you like to play the smart one, don't you, dirty punk?" The man's eyes drifted to Gojyo as he stepped back and pulled his gun from his holster. "Well, I have some news for you. You aren't going to leave so soon. And your demon isn't going anywhere anymore."

Hakkai wet his lips, cursing silently. So far, his reading of the situation had been all wrong. It would be unlikely to find himself and Gojyo a way out of such an impasse with a proper explanation—with 'fancy words.' This human was clearly in love with the petty power he held and any attempt at denying him the show he was trying to put on for his subordinates would be regarded—it _was _already being regarded—as a personal affront.

It was time to give the man what he wanted, then. Hakkai prayed to all the gods that Gojyo would have the common sense not to interfere and began his own act. "Sir, please, we… We didn't know. We're sorry for having…" He allowed his voice to trail off, then added in a murmur, "Oh gods, what are you going to do?"

Was it contrite enough? Frightened enough?

Apparently it was, for his opponent grunted with satisfaction. "Believe me, punk, you don't want to know what I can do." There was levity in the soldier's voice now, and Hakkai relaxed a fraction; as long as this man believed himself in charge, as long as he was asserting his authority and enjoying his own theatrics, chances were that those guns would not be fired. "Now, punk, you will shut up and speak only when I tell you to."

Hakkai almost smiled. And deliberately offered him a tidbit more. "Yes, sir, I… I'm sorry, I didn't know—"

"What part of 'you will shut up' did you not understand, punk?"

He saw the punch coming. It was slow, as human movement tended to be, and he could have evaded it if he had wished. As it was, Hakkai fell to the ground with a choked moan. Pebbles scratched his hands, a minor annoyance compared to his wounded dignity—which was also nothing, as long as his performance bought them time. Sanzo and Goku were coming; Sanzo and Goku would be here soon.

He startled when a large quantity of spit hit the ground, barely missing his face.

"There," the man bragged above him. "I'm not sure, but I suppose it's hard to recite poetry from that position."

Laughter. Beginning with the nearer soldiers, then quickly spreading to the others until the circuit was complete. Hakkai closed his eyes for a moment. Laughter was good, laughter was right—it meant that the script of this little comedy was being followed as was expected by its dangerous audience: the 'Man with the Gun' in control, the 'Punk' on the ground, humiliated…

…now, he would have to improvise and try to diminish the supporting role of the 'Youkai'—hopefully until it was cut from their little play altogether.

Gojyo changed everything. Hakkai sensed him gathering his unsteady _chi_, and the lethal mixture of blind fury and complete exhaustion oscillating in it made him gasp. Also, Gojyo seemed to be concentrating solely on Hakkai's attacker—a crass strategy error that a seasoned fighter like him would never commit in normal circumstances. He would not stand a chance against those weapons if he lashed out, even if he were able to kill the leader.

With a fluid movement of his whole body, Hakkai launched himself at Gojyo, toppling him from the stone bench. Fireworks shot off, closer, brighter, deafening, and he felt warmth trickling down his face. And an odd numbness.

Then, there was a crashing wave of excruciating pain and he was lost in it.

"Hakkai!"

Gojyo…

Had he called the name aloud? And why was someone screaming…

"Hakkai!"

He opened his eyes to billowing red water.

"Hakkai, please…"

Gojyo?

"Look at me. Hakkai? Come on, man, look at me!"

Gojyo.

The red water receded upwards, and Hakkai blinked, aghast. Gojyo was leaning over him. And it had been that red hair that had invaded his eyes, his nose, his open mouth. Gojyo's hair. He had been drowning in Gojyo's beautiful hair. There were worse ways of dying.

"Hakkai? Fuck!"

The swearing made him smile.

"Talk to me! Hakkai!"

He wanted to reassure Gojyo, to soothe those cries. But when he was able to focus again, there was only the sky above him, bursting in a myriad of sparkling colors. And Hakuryu's tiny head, peering down at him.

Curses and shouts reached him as if they were coming from a long distance. And the noise… That stifled noise… It sounded like… It _was_ flesh hitting flesh.

Had he been dreaming? But the pain…

And someone was being beaten.

No, not someone.

Gojyo.

Gojyo, now calling out for…

"Sanzo! Help! Hakkai was shot! Sanzo!"

Shot?

"Damn it, Hu!" a coarser voice intruded. "Make that demon shut its fucking mouth! Mou, are you out of your mind? Why did you fire?"

"I'm sorry, Sergeant, I—I thought…"

And whose voices are those?

"Shove it, you idiot! How am _I _going to explain another fucking dead man to the captain?"

Hakkai gasped. Reality swirled one last time, then righted itself on its dreadful axis. The town. The soldiers. He had been shot. And while he was lying on his back, staring ahead at dazzling pyrotechnics in the sky, his blood soaked the pebbled pathway of a park. As for Gojyo…

"Sanzo! Hakkai's hurt! He needs you! _Sanzo_!"

"Kill it, Sergeant! Just kill this thing!"

Stifling a moan, Hakkai strove to his knees and lifted a shaking hand to the gash at his left temple. Shot, indeed. The bullet had grazed his head—which meant that luck had not abandoned them completely. Hakuryu looked up at him with concern, hissed, and turned around, ready to help Gojyo.

"No," Hakkai slurred, holding the dragon back by a wing. "Stay here. They're not interested in you. Don't give … don't give them reasons… _Please_, Hakuryu."

Hakuryu let out a cry of protest, but crept to his hiding place under the bench.

"_Sanzo!_" Gojyo shouted again, desperate. "You son of a bitch,_ Hakkai is hurt!_"

Hakkai managed to raise his head. A group of men had Gojyo by his legs, arms, and hair. The kappa struggled like a wild thing, snarling and trying to bite whatever came within reach of his mouth. The kicks and punches that showered upon him only made him more frantic, like a cornered animal. The resemblance to Changed youkai was appalling—as were the exhortations to "Shoot the demon" circulating among the soldiers.

"Gojyo, stop this!" Hakkai's raspy appeal was neither loud nor well articulated. It drew some eyes to him, though. More importantly, it drew a pair of red eyes to his. _Stop, please_, he begged mutely. _Gojyo, you are hurting yourself. You are only hurting yourself! _

Gojyo sagged in his captors' clutches, panting. One of the soldiers hoisted him up with a jerk on his bad arm and lodged a gun against his neck. Gojyo just stared at Hakkai the whole time, and the question in those frenzied eyes did not have to be voiced to be understood: _Are you okay? _

Hakkai nodded, ignoring the stabbing, crippling pain that even such a small movement caused. "Do not fight them, Gojyo,"he breathed out. _Please, do not let them hurt you any further. _

"It seems you've trained your pet demon well, boy."

Hakkai blinked owlishly and turned his head a little to the left. The leader was coming towards him again, at a leisurely pace. "You're hard to kill, huh?" the man taunted, reaching out to grab a handful of Hakkai's hair. Hakkai whimpered, nauseated. "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you, punk. Come on, I'm right up here." And he snapped his fingers in front of Hakkai's face until he was sure he had Hakkai's undivided attention. "I'm _Sergeant _Chen Dan. Repeat that to me."

"Sergeant… Sergeant Chen Dan," Hakkai whispered, almost passing out from pain.

"That's right, punk. Very good. And now you see me…" With a vicious jerk, Chen Dan took off Hakkai's monocle. "Now you see me not."

For a moment believing that the sergeant had plucked his glass eye out, Hakkai uncoordinatedly tried to capture that hand. Volleys of loud laughter went round and he froze, aghast, when another sound registered. Were the humans … clapping?

"Not so smart now, eh, punk?" Chen Dan whispered in Hakkai's ear. Then, a yell: "Hey, Mou! You missed, you fucking idiot! If this punk were a youkai you would be dead now!"

Hakkai squinted at his surroundings. It seemed that they had attracted quite an audience. Over him, Chen Dan basked in their approval, smiling and nodding. The sergeant then tightened his grip on Hakkai's hair, hauling him up to his feet—and all Hakkai could do was fight to keep the darkness at bay. Not that the light was better… It did _hurt_! Everything just hurt.

He tried to cover his eyes, but someone had him firmly by his wrists, fastening them. "Gojyo," he panted, "please, don't do this to him. His arm … injured—" Unbearable pain exploded once more and he blacked out for a moment. He came to hanging from his captors' arms, vomiting.

"I told you, punk," Chen Dan said, sounding quite amused. "You will shut that fucking trap of yours. Got it? Okay, come on, men. Let's get this trash to the place it belongs."

"Sergeant, and the other two? Lieutenant Yao said four—"

"Oh, thank you so much for the math class, Mou! Now, let's see, the lieutenant himself told _me_ that he just wanted the youkai. The punk here is only a bonus. Did I answer your question?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry. I just—"

"You'll be sorrier, you idiot. Because _you_ are the one who is going to explain to Yao-sama how this punk came to be acquainted with one of your bullets."

Hakkai was only vaguely aware of being dragged across the park. There were voices, voices that cursed and cheered, and strange faces coming in and out of focus. He felt a keen pain on his torso and looked down in time to see a small object falling onto the ground. Someone had hurled something—a stone?—at him.

"Hey, Mou!" Chen Dan's boisterous voice pierced the air again. "That little boy has better aim than you!"

They halted at a long stone stairway. At its end, soldiers on horses and a small wagon awaited them.

"Fuck, Sergeant, it's a pity these two won't get what they deserve right now. What does the captain want with this demon? It would be easier—"

"Shut up, Mou."

Gojyo was shoved forward and Hakkai screamed, thinking that they were going to throw him down all those steps. It would be a fatal plunge. The soldiers laughed uproariously and during their descent continued their game of threatening to push Gojyo to his death.

There was nothing that Hakkai could do to prevent this, nothing at all, so he started praying silently. But not to the gods, who had never heard him anyway.

_Please, Sanzo, come! Please, Sanzo, come and help us!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 **

Pushing aside the humans who lingered in the common hall, Goku rushed to the front door—only to find it locked. He grabbed the knob, his hands sticky from his exploits in the kitchen, and tried it over and over.

"No! No, no, no! Boy, wait!" somebody squeaked at his back. "You can't go out! There is a youkai on the loose outside! I've called the soldiers—"

Goku turned his head and stared at the thin, balding young man who had the temerity of approaching him. "I want to go out," he hissed savagely, giving the door a shove. "Now."

The young man pretended to smile. "I don't think it's a wise thing to do, Honorable Guest," he said softly, a vein throbbing over his right eye. "Why don't we have a cup of tea together instead, hmm? I'm Gao, the manager of—"

"Open this fucking thing," Goku snarled and gave the knob another tug. "If you don't open it, I'm going to break it down! I'm serious!"

"Look, I really don't—"

Goku stepped back and launched himself against the door. Since it opened inwards, the result was a thunderous noise and a cracked jamb. "Let me out!" he demanded, voice spiraling into a screech.

And how many times had he howled, sobbed, and prayed those exact words during his long incarceration? Anxiety swelled inside him, morphing into a cruder, darker feeling. It had nothing to do with such a stupid entrapment—he could rip the door off, along with the manager's head, any time he wished—but with some undercurrent that was an ingrained part of the town. A dissonant, insistent background note, which he had been too tired or too busy to listen to until now:

Death.

Like a leaking roof dripping putrid water into a festive mansion, each little drop adding, with its ominous sound, to a rancid pool where silk hems and expensive shoes wallowed—a dark mirror where one could see the true nature of the dwellers' opulence:

Death.

He felt cold. Positively, truly cold. Shivering, he looked once more over his shoulder. The human was still preaching about 'caution' and 'youkai'—unimportant, pointless blather. The only word that now held any real meaning to him was the one being whispered in his soul:

Death.

The murmur escalated into urgency, threatening to burst into an all-consuming scream.

Suddenly, he was aware of a … presence. And then…

_…then he was being dragged into his cave, to that tomb where he would be left to suffer such cruel, cruel torture. He recognized the passageways, and his own voice resounding along them. He looked at… _

"No," he murmured over the painful hammering of his heart. "Sanzo, help!"

_…the overcast, late autumn sky. His vision was blurred by tears and dirt. And there was dirt in his mouth, muffling his howls… _

As if by their own volition, his nails started raking the door, leaving deep, animal-like gouges in the lacquered carvings. A part of his mind recoiled and tried to struggle, denying the change of scenario in a well-known nightmare. He had been sealed in a cave. He had not been able to see the sky for centuries. _That _had been his lot.

From a long distance away, he could hear someone—the manager?—whining about damaged antiques, but the man's grating voice was being obliterated by the continuous, raspy noise of … shovels? Soon enough, though, even _that_ was decreasing in volume, growing fainter until…

Nothing.

There was no more light, either.

Absolute silence in absolute darkness—a darkness that held him totally still and prevented him from breathing.

_What is this? _he begged, overwhelmed. _Gods, what is this?_

Surprisingly, there was an answer. Just a sigh, rippling his stormy thoughts: _I was buried alive, too. _

Horror-stricken, Goku forced himself to think of Sanzo, to hear Sanzo's voice, to fumble for it and grasp it with all his will; Sanzo, the candle on the windowsill that could guide him to a shelter even during the most frightening storms. There! _It's enough! Goku, wake up! _

His chest ached when he finally was able to take a breath.

The soft lighting of the entrance hall hurt his eyes and he blinked, panting.

_It's over. It's over, over, over… And what was that? Fuck, what was that? _

Trying to bring his focus back solely to his endangered friends, he glared at the manager, who had finally been shocked into muteness by what was undoubtedly being deemed a psychotic episode. "Open this fucking thing!" he growled, more than ready to attack. Apparently, the human's instinct to survive had finally set in and a key was produced along with mutterings of "Dangerous madman." Goku pushed his bangs out of his eyes, agreeing with the description. Yes, he was not totally right. Not after being…

(_buried alive_)

…sealed for so long.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the manager said grudgingly. "If something bad happens to you, our house won't be held responsible. Because, boy, I have witnesses here! Oh, yes, witnesses! They'll testify that you––"

As soon as the door was unlocked, Goku darted into the front garden, searching frantically.

Nothing. No _thing_.

And what did he expect to see? Some restless spirit still hovering nearby?

He sprinted towards the park, which was much more crowded now.

"Hakkai! Gojyo!" His loud call attracted some uninterested, anonymous eyes. "Hakuryu!"

Fireworks exploded everywhere, adding a bizarre, dreamlike quality to his search. A young couple passed by him, singing loudly, and Goku moaned, hating the sensorial bombardment.

"Hakkai!" he thundered. "Answer me!"

A woman turned and flashed a smile at him. "They are not here, dear." She slid her tongue between her painted lips and added, "Why don't you come to play with me, cutie?"

Goku gaped at her for a moment, unable to understand what had been proposed to him. Then, he caught sight of a commotion at the very brink of the park and hurried there, the woman's laughter trailing after him.

He found his way to yet another stone stairway. On the street below, mounted humans in dark clothes had Hakkai and Gojyo in a small wagon. One of the … soldiers?… sat with his teammates, Gojyo's unmistakable red hair coiled around his wrist. And the man held a gun to the kappa's head. A gun like Sanzo's.

As for Hakkai…

Hakkai seemed to be losing conscience, his face bloodied.

Goku screamed their names again and, elbowing aside whoever got in his way, dashed down. He had only made it to the first steps when the company suddenly began moving. "No, wait!" he cried. "Hakkai! Gojyo!" His body could not do much more, and he fell clumsily, hitting his head on the cutting stone. When he stood, the group had already been swallowed by the milling crowd. "_Hakkai! Gojyo! _What the hell?"

Then he felt _it_. The presence.

"No," he choked. "I don't—I don't want you near me again! I don't have time for this! Leave me alone!" He whirled around, ordering his cramping legs to run, just run. Run up those steps, run back to Sanzo. Run to…

_…those passageways… _

_Shit, he was so familiar with them, wasn't he? The cave. He was being taken to that cursed cave again, apologizing without knowing for what exactly, just please, please, I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry, sorry sorry sorry. With past and present mixing into one, he knew now what waited for him at the end of those passageways: centuries of loneliness, and fear, and darkness, and hunger and thirst and darkness and hunger and thirst and fear fear fear… _

The terror that he had locked in his soul for the sake of what had been left of his mind was being magnified somehow—and then it finally blasted open his carefully built floodgates, engulfing any rational thought in its bubbling fury. Keening, he wrung his… 

_…hands on his body, hurting him, keeping him down. He could hear men's voices. There was someone nearby commenting on the weather, saying that they would have snow this very evening. _

_Surprised, he opened his eyes … to see a stranger hovering over his prone body, framed by an overcast sky. The human looked down at him with contempt, fixing his dark clothes, then signaled to the soldiers who had been standing aside. The ones who had watched … watched him being… His mind was a blank, but he pressed his tied hands to his abdomen, feeling liquid warmth slowly oozing from between his legs, a startling contrast to the cold wind. Trembling, he gathered his torn green dress and tried to cover himself. Soon those brutal hands were on him again, in his long silver hair, dragging him to the edge of a deep hole in the rocky terrain. _

_It hurt. It hurt and he was so frightened! _

_He floated; he indeed floated in the air. And then… Then there was only pain. Such terrible, maddening, inconceivable pain! The plunge into the hole had cost him several broken bones. He tried to curl up, tried to alleviate the agony—to no avail—all the while quite aware that he was going to die in this place. That there would be no rescue. And more than causing horror, his impending death just awed and saddened him. _

_A soft caress on his face made him raise his head to look at the sky. Insubstantial, beautiful snowflakes sprinkled his eyelashes, his still tied hands, his protruding shattered legs… And he sighed, thankful. He was going to die wrapped in pure white. All he had to do was close his eyes and go to sleep under that numbing blanket. He murmured a word—"Father"—and tasted dirt. _

_Dirt showered him now, dirt weighted him down and suffocated him, and when comprehension finally dawned, he tried to crawl up the hole, imploring for mercy. His yowls filled the whole world, but, even then, he could hear their busy shovels. _

_And their laughter. _

"Boy? Are you all right? Boy?" A man's voice. And a hand on his arm, pulling him up.

Goku flinched, still lost in his ghastly experience, though reality was slowly flickering back. The screams that tore the night—the screams were his. And he recognized the word he called, repeatedly:

(_"Father"_)

"Sanzo!"

As always, this sound, this incantation, was enough to quiet him.

He was … in the middle of a long stairway. He had … folded in on himself during his … trance. His hands were bleeding. A lot. They glistened purple in the moonlight. And he felt really, really sick. The distance to the top was an insurmountable obstacle right now, so he just braced himself and vomited everything he had eaten at the inn, tears rolling freely down his face.

"A young boy like yourself shouldn't have had so much to drink." The concerned human again. There were others around him, talking to and about him. "Do you need any help?"

Help?

Yes, he needed help. He needed…

(_"Father"_)

"Sanzo!"

He gained his feet, his whole body convulsing, and raced up the steps.

It was difficult to maintain a fast pace on the diminutive pebbles of the walkways while weaving through the crowds, but he kept pumping and pumping his legs, dry sobs marking his unsteady rhythm. Not too far from the inn, he spotted the bag Gojyo had been carrying abandoned on the ground. There was blood splattered and pooled in that area.

A soft noise came from beneath the nearer bench, and, numbly, Goku crouched to take a look. "Hakuryu?" he called, his ravaged throat almost closed off.

A pair of small red eyes peered up at him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 **

Dressed only in his underwear and with the flooding moonlight as his only source of light, Sanzo sat cross-legged on his bed and stared at the window, uncaring of the occasional fireworks that colored the night sky.

He had left the Temple of the Soul's Retreat this very morning, but was already missing it—missing the quietude he had found on its grounds, especially in the woods where he had spent his afternoons. There, breathing the cleansing scent of moistened earth, at a total communion with each leaf, each flower, each rock or bird, he had daily sat under the same blooming pagoda tree to meditate. And, for a week, he had been at peace, his unsolved problems dwarfed, his doubts and wishes crushed to their proper pettiness and insignificance before that absolute sense of dissolving himself into the undivided whole—of being, at the same time, Nothing and Everything. _This _kind of disintegration was welcome, was benign, was painless; it elevated him to a superior level. Very different from the dark, abyssal vortex that revolved around Gojyo. A pity that he had had to come back to this miserable world and to his equally wretched quest; he would have gladly stayed in those woods forever, a new Buddha seeking Enlightenment under his own tree. He was a monk, after all… Why was he not pursuing such a path with all his might?

And how unfortunate that the sentiment had been totally shattered right on the eve of his departure…

"Ah, Sanzo-sama!" All smiles and bows, the abbot had rushed to meet him at the door. "The trees were good for you, I see."

"I'm myself again, Seikan-san," Sanzo had answered, sending a last look at the dying sunrays that still painted the horizon. Feeling ready to undertake this same westbound journey the next morning.

"Good, good." The old man had nodded, indicating the lavish interior of the monastery. "Come in, Sanzo-sama, come in. Have a bath, then let's have dinner. Your last as my guest, _ne_?"

"Yes."

They entered the building together, and Seikan, much to Sanzo's annoyance, kept following him down the narrow corridor that led to his quarters.

"And I would appreciate one more match of _go_," Seikan said. "You're a formidable adversary, Sanzo-sama. A formidable adversary."

"Yes." Sanzo's curt answer was, at the same time, an agreement with the proposed game and a dismissive validation of his own talent for strategy. He would not have been chosen for his quest otherwise. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Then I'll have something to show you, Sanzo-sama."

"I won't spend my last hours in this place studying old parchments, Seikan-san. We've already discussed all possible routes."

"Oh, almost all routes, Sanzo-sama, almost all. But not the one to your heart."

Sanzo halted, stunned. He had spoken about his unhealthy Gojyo fixation with the abbot, true; had even admitted, after three bottles of wine, his guilt over his hesitation to help the kappa during the youkai ambush—and that he had been compelled to give such a confession was a good measure of his despair. But this? "Your trespasses aren't welcome nor they will be tolerated, old man," he warned coldly, all pretense of civility gone. "My life isn't your business."

Seikan turned to him, a cunning glint in his rheumy little eyes. "I apologize, it was not my intention to offend you. You're a _go_ master, so you know how important it is to protect your territory. Yet, you have allowed your defenses to be breached." The abbot shook his head and started retracing his steps along the passageway. "Just go to the little house with the thatched roof after the eleventh bell, Sanzo-sama. It's near the quarters where I accommodated your servants. And see for yourself what your mind has known all along, but what your heart insists isn't true."

Sanzo had not understood at the time.

Now he did.

A new argument on the ground floor made him click his tongue in annoyance. Someone was banging on the door. _Again_. And in the adjacent room that harridan was still telling off her child, raving about money, managers, and ruined vacations. Sanzo combed his almost dry hair with his fingers, checked if his gun was indeed under his pillow in a gesture that had become second nature to him, and finally lay down, willing himself to relax.

"How am I supposed to pay for that vase?" intruded the woman's voice. She outdid even the fireworks. "It's worth a fortune! And the manager told me he is going to have me arrested if I don't pay for the damage! Why do you have to behave like a youkai?"

Sanzo closed his eyes. Why, indeed?

The muffled quarrel downstairs was also growing louder. He tried to pay attention to what was being said, suddenly feeling uneasy, but once more everything was drowned out by the woman: "How many times have I told you not to run on the stairs?"

Not enough times, apparently. Oh, but this place was atrocious; he was sure third-class whorehouses were more professionally operated.

He swore between his teeth, the unfortunate comparison immediately feeding his mind with images from the previous night. Because anything that hinted at or clearly stated the word 'whore' was now synonymous with Gojyo.

Gojyo, so, so beautiful, sitting with his legs spread wide to accommodate the alien flesh lodged inside his body…

"Your father will be furious! Absolutely furious!"

Gojyo, lowering his sweaty torso to the bed, arms open in perfect surrender, the left one still bandaged from shoulder to wrist…

"And look at me when I'm talking to you, brat!"

Gojyo, lifting his pelvis to meet each thrust; so, so graceful, even in the heat of the passion—a pinned butterfly.

"Sanzo!" Goku's stifled voice suddenly broke through his sensual haze and made him jump to his feet, gun in hand. "Sanzo! Help!"

He let out a string of muttered curses, the maneuvers to put on his jeans clumsy due to the hungry bulge between his legs. Then, gun and erection hidden under his shirttail, he climbed down the stairs, elbowing a group of people aside. The clerk stood in the hall, exchanging looks and inaudible words with a balding younger man while the front door was hammered from outside.

"Sanzo, please!"

Goku was locked out in the garden—and the whys and the wherefores were not important right now. Sighing resignedly, Sanzo approached the clerk and asked for the key in his most forceful, non-nonsense voice.

"I, huh, I apologize for this inconvenience, sir," the younger man answered. "I'm Gao, the manager of this house. One of our guests is having some kind of episode—"

"_Sanzo_!" Goku wailed, sounding truly desperate.

Sanzo extended his hand, palm up, to Gao. "The key."

"We can't open the door, sir," Gao mumbled, shaking his head. "There is a youkai on the loose. I warned that crazy boy that if he wanted to go out, it would be at his own risk. He didn't listen—"

"Gao-sama," the clerk piped up softly, "they arrived together. This man is a monk and—"

"Monk? _Monk_? We don't accept beggars in here, Ji Hui! And you've been warned about interrupting me!"

The clerk bowed low, embarrassed. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, it won't happen again. But you see… They paid in advance for their rooms and—"

"Sanzo! Help!"

"Buddha," Gao screeched, "he's destroying the door! Ji Hui, this is your fault, you stupid ass. These people shouldn't have been allowed in here to begin with! I won't—"

"_The key_," Sanzo growled, near the end of his tether. Spitting derogative words (but not daring to look Sanzo in the eye), Gao surrendered the key and stepped back.

Sanzo opened the door and a still-very-dirty-and-now-bloodied Goku practically fell into his arms.

"Sanzo…" The suffocated whine seemed to go on forever, overlapping the other guests' whispers and overlapped by the manager's cries.

"I told him!" Gao was saying, gesturing wildly. "You all heard me when I told him that there was a youkai on the loose! Now, look at him! It's his own fault! I've warned him! Ji Hui, you heard when I warned him!"

Sanzo tightened his hold on Goku and dragged him to a corner, away from curious stares. "What's wrong?" he asked warily. "Goku?"

"Hakkai… Gojyo…"

Sanzo canted his head towards the stairs, hoping to find the rest of his team there.

"No," Goku slurred. "They were taken. By humans."

"Taken?" Sanzo echoed, surprised. "Why? How?"

Hakuryu flew in, then, landing on the clerk's desk with a low, heartfelt lament.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 **

"Goku?"

Goku tried to focus on Sanzo's voice. Tried to pay attention. Frustrated, he snarled and pulled at his hair.

"Goku, stop that. Hey! Can you hear me? _I told you to stop_. What do you mean, Hakkai and Gojyo were taken?"

Sanzo was worried. Sanzo was asking him questions.

"Answer me!"

And Sanzo was growing impatient.

Goku whimpered. The ghostly presence, or whatever that thing should be called, had force-fed him some truly gruesome memories, adding and mixing its terror in with his own. And if he intended to function in this world as the fairly sane demon Sanzo needed him to be, it would be necessary to plunge into the dark, swirling maelstrom of his own thoughts to repair the damage—to sort out into two separate piles what was and was not his, so to speak. Only then the defeated, eternally frightened version of himself—the one who now shook in a fragile human's embrace—would be submerged, chained, shackled, walled again. Because he had dug his own inner cave where the impaired fragment of his spirit would be forever held a prisoner—had dug like the thing's tireless shovels were still digging. Even now he could hear them, hear their interminable melody of rasping metal against hard soil…

_Stop this! _he ordered himself._ Sanzo told you to stop this. And Hakkai and Gojyo need you! Think! _

The old man who hovered nearby had said something important, hadn't he? A warning. _The_ warning that had propelled him to that park. What had been the human's exact words? Goku frowned, trying to remember. "The council," he stammered, "the council has been … has been executing youkai…"

"What?" Sanzo blurted out.

"The council," Goku repeated forcefully, "has been executing youkai since—since I was a child." He raised his pleading eyes to Sanzo. _Please, understand!_

"Yes, of course," someone else's voice intruded. "We're sensible people. And if everybody had done the same, we wouldn't be hearing those horror stories about demons feasting on humans, would we?" Goku shook his head numbly, still staring up at Sanzo—who looked down at him with a forbidding expression. "Yes, we're wise people, quite the opposite of you, boy. As for you, monk… Since you're responsible for this poor child, you will pay for the damage he caused to our door. Which _will _stay locked from now on. Did you hear me, Ji Hui? Actually, I am taking the key with me."

"Yes, Gao-sama, I'm sorry for…"

Goku could no longer pay attention and let his head drop until it rested against Sanzo's shoulder. The noise of the shovels was louder now, echoing along the corridors that led to his cave. It combined with his own frenzied pleadings. And with _their _laughter.

"Goku, what the fuck happened?" Sanzo insisted, pushing him away. "Goku?"

He blinked when the slap connected with his face.

"I need an answer, damn it!"

Keening, Goku pressed his hands to his ears. He was drifting. Drifting to his tomb, to the time when Sanzo was not in his life, to when Sanzo was not even born—and how could the world have existed without Sanzo? But it had been like that once, no Sanzo at all, only unanswered prayers and unspeakable horror.

Another slap.

Not enough to keep him in the Here and Now, though. Not nearly enough. He would have to make this journey back, had to… Had to lock Mad Goku back up, had to bury him again. Only then would he be able to emerge with what was left of his soul, patching what was possible to patch of the walls of his own personal hell.

But… What about Hakkai and Gojyo?

"I was—I was in the kitchen," he tried again. He could feel dirt—dirt falling on him. Could taste it. "Then… Then he said that to me." And dirt…

"He?" Sanzo urged. "He who?"

…dirt covered the bloodied white of the open fractures of his legs.

With a shaking hand, Goku pointed in the direction from which he had heard the clerk's voice. He could not focus on anything any more, but he hoped the old man was still there. "I ran, but the door was locked," he choked, trying to spit. "The fucking door was locked!" Dirt invaded his eyes, his nostrils, his mouth…

"Goku! Stop that!" Was there a note of fear in Sanzo's voice now? "Goku?"

Goku sobbed once, a dry, helpless protest. Right now he needed Sanzo to be … Sanzo. Strong. Unemotional. Omniscient. Sanzo.

"I saw when—when they took them," he muttered. "Armed men. With guns like yours. And horses. We—we have to go." He had to struggle for each breath now. "And I—I saw…_ It _was buried alive! Buried alive, like—like me!" He tried to cough and inhaled a lungful of dirt. Panicked, he aimed his nails at his own neck, scratching mercilessly at the tender skin. And hissed, baring his teeth, when hands restrained him. Gods, he would fight. He would _kill _anyone (_everyone_) who wanted (_dared_) to hurt (_oppose_) him…

"All right. You. Will. _Stop_."

The roar froze him completely. For lost as he was, maddened as he was, Son Goku would recognize a certain Genjo Sanzo's commands no matter the circumstance.

He floated, weightless, held together only by Sanzo's hands on his wrists, knowing that not even Sanzo would be able to bring him ashore this time. "I—I need…"

"Goku?"

"Sanzo."

(_"Father"_)

And he let go, allowing himself to sink into his waiting abyss.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 **

"Goku? _Fuck_!" Sanzo pulled the boy close to his body, tempted to hit him again. Not that that would make any difference now: there was no longer a single spark of cognition in Goku's staring eyes. Sanzo's nonsensical, flitting thought of _Nobody Home _was immediately replaced by concern. Unwanted. Unacceptable.

Undiluted.

Breached defenses, all right.

"Sir?" a voice intruded timidly. Sanzo turned and found the elderly clerk hovering nearby—the only one who still seemed interested in their predicament. "A word, if you please? In my office." And the man signaled to a narrow door behind his desk.

Sanzo hesitated, not wanting to waste more time. Hakkai and Gojyo were out there, likely in danger if Goku's babblings about executions were true. But how was he supposed to rush out into this maze to search for his lost teammates? They could be anywhere. He cursed under his breath and shook Goku. "Talk to me, you son of a bitch!"

"I may have an idea of what happened to your friends," the clerk added, sounding apprehensive. "Let's go to my office and I—"

Sanzo cut him off with a Glare. Though it seemed he had no other option, had he?

He pushed a quiescent Goku ahead, collected Hakuryu, and continued walking. "I don't have the whole night," he muttered grudgingly, maneuvering what was left of his team into the office. "So be brief."

The windowless little room was cluttered and smelled moldy. Sanzo ducked his head to avoid bumping it against the lantern that hung from the low ceiling, and propped Goku up in the only available chair. And there Goku stayed like a broken toy, all wrong angles and slack limbs, saliva dripping from his lax mouth.

Sanzo gritted his teeth in sympathy. It was not the first time that he ended up with this empty shell in his hands, though it had been a while. And back then—in the very, very beginning of their acquaintance—he had not cared whether Goku would wake up from his catatonic bouts or whether he would spend the rest of his long life caught between the cogs of his own mind. Back then Goku was just a stranger, and an unwished-for burden; just one more pesky demon among several pesky demons that had gotten what it had deserved for its pesky demon ways.

Now…

…now Goku was…

_teammate companion friend son _

…Goku.

Subduing his anxiety, Sanzo turned to the clerk. "I don't have time to waste, but I suppose you're the only person who can give me answers. Would you care to explain why my servants were locked outside, when I paid, and paid well, for their rooms?"

"Uh, yes, sorry, sir, but you didn't inform me that you traveled with youkai." The man stood near the door, clearly having second thoughts about this impromptu meeting. "And I couldn't allow that creature here, of course."

Confused, Sanzo glanced down at Goku.

"I'm talking about the one with the red eyes, sir," came the soft explanation.

Sanzo grunted. Gojyo. Everything revolved around Gojyo these days.

"We have severe laws concerning youkai, sir," the clerk went on. "They must be registered and they must have a special pass to circulate. Access to most parts of our town is controlled or, as is the case with this district, prohibited. We receive many visitors, especially during summer—you must have noticed that our streets are bustling. The least we can do is keep these people from becoming some deranged beast's victim…"

Sanzo toned out the pedantic voice, mind reeling. Okay, so youkai were not allowed in this town. Nothing new here, not really. Vestiges of the Madness could be found everywhere, and the more they advanced to the west, the more they stumbled onto destruction. He had been negligent to lead his team through those labyrinthine streets without gathering information first—and such a strategic error, plus the inevitable self-recrimination it brought on, was immediately pushed aside and compartmentalized for future reference. Right now, the crux of the matter was why only a mere half-breed had been labeled a 'youkai' and forbidden access to this inn while Goku, a full-blooded demon, was not.

Hakkai, he could understand. Even the other members of the Sanzo-ikkou had some difficulty thinking of quiet Hakkai as a youkai. _Goku_ was the polar opposite though, not Gojyo. Goku, who had been welcomed with a bow by this very old man, while Sanzo dropped a gold coin on the reception desk.

Shit, he had a _dragon_ perched on his left shoulder at the moment, and nobody had objected to Hakuryu's presence!

So, why only _him_?

"…tomorrow is our Summer Festival, sir, our most important holiday…"

Sanzo drummed his fingers on the back of Goku's chair. His attention was caught by Goku's right hand, laying still on the boy's lap. Caked with blood. With red.

"…I explained all this to the dark-haired gentleman," the clerk was saying. "Laws are laws, and I couldn't…"

And how had this man referred to Gojyo again?

_The one with the red eyes. _

Would Gojyo's coloring be the trait that defined who and what he was _again_?

"…unfortunately by then, Gao-sama—that's our manager—had already sent for the guards. I _told_ this boy of yours to go to—"

"What's your name?" Sanzo interrupted, and the low, almost friendly question took the clerk completely by surprise.

"Pardon?"

"Your name."

"Oh. Ji Hui, sir."

"Tell me what a youkai is, Ji Hui."

"Uh? Well." The clerk scratched his head. "Red-eyed demons that feign to be people." A pause and he corrected himself, stressing the newest definition of the term according to his town's lexicon: "Red-eyed demons that feign to be people only _to eat_ _them_." And he sent a meaningful look towards Goku. "I mean—that's what I believed, that all youkai had red eyes—"

"What was that babbling about executions?" Sanzo demanded impatiently.

"We've always had problems with youkai, sir, long before they started their war against humans. I was only a child when the town council decided to take more serious measures. It was necessary, _ne_? Youkai caught without their documents on our streets are arrested, and, uh, you know, executed. I tried to warn…" He pointed a chubby finger to Goku. "But it was too late. We have a very effective force, sir. It's legendary here in this area, a formidable army with very modern weapons—"

_With guns like yours! _

Goku's recalled words made Sanzo feel cold all over.

Executed.

Gojyo…

Executed.

_With guns like yours! _

Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe.

_And if he dies, I'm free_, chanted the part of him that wanted to see Gojyo getting his due. _If he dies, it's over. If… _

"Sir, are you all right? Should I get you some water? Sir?"

_…he dies… _

"Executed, did you say?" Sanzo whispered numbly.

_…I'm free. _

"Yes. I know it isn't very fair, foreigners don't know better—"

"Is _he _… is he … dead?" The lump in Sanzo's throat almost sealed in the gruesome question.

_If he dies… _

"No, not yet," Ji Hui answered. "You still have three days. That's the deadline that our law gives to unregistered youkai. If you don't provide its papers by then…"

_…it's over. _

Sanzo blinked, trying to assimilate what he had learned. Gojyo. Still alive. And he had three days to keep him like that. Three days to keep him.

He started feeling over his clothes, desperate for a cigarette. His pack had been left upstairs, yes, on the bedside table; he could hungrily picture it there, near his fan, but such insignificant detail was not enough to stop the mechanical search. It was like his hands were not connected to his brain; their frantic spasms only stilled when he touched the bulge of his own weapon, tucked under his shirt.

Hakuryu nervously fluttered against his neck and Sanzo let go of the gun to pat him—an unconscious gesture that he had seen Hakkai make countless times.

"Sir? Are you sure you don't want some water? I can—"

"The other one," Sanzo rasped. "The 'dark-haired gentleman.' What about him?"

"He has broken the law too, sir. To be caught openly with a youkai is a crime, so he's in for some time behind bars." Ji Hui lowered his head, uncomfortable with Sanzo's feverish stare. "Gao-sama doesn't know that you four were together, otherwise he would have you and your … friend here arrested. He's not … very tolerant. I suppose that many others saw you on the streets, though, and they're going to report you. However… We had a case last year, when two human boys were killed by mistake and, since then, the force has avoided going after real people when it can be prevented." A shrug. "You must understand. Not everyone supports this law, and there is a group here that promotes rebellion. Tomorrow is our Summer Festival; the town is full of visitors. Our authorities always expect some open defiance on this day—there's always someone who can try to make a point, _ne_?" Sanzo did not answer and Ji Hui risked a step towards the door. "I have to go back, sir. I hope you can solve your servants' situation—"

"You said that all youkai are red-eyed demons." Sanzo's voice was firmer, and angrier, now. "Is this a general belief in this town?"

"Yes. The ones we had here—the ones that we still have here—they all had or have red eyes. Most of us don't live with the creatures on a daily basis, therefore—"

"Yet, it's clear that you know it's not so." And Sanzo jerked his chin down, indicating Goku.

"Ah, uh, yes. Well, I saw your friend's reaction in the kitchen, and then there was no way I could have mistaken it for a human. But I don't think people will notice any difference, not if it keeps a low profile. It's been a long time since we've really had demons around. Be careful, though, and avoid the really old people. Those will know."

Sanzo rubbed the bridge of his nose. Gods, how did they get themselves stuck in this spider web? At least Goku seemed to be coming to—these episodes of his used to last much longer back in their days in Changan. "What about the dragon?" he asked grimly. Goku studied his hands, as if surprised to see them so hurt.

"Ah, don't worry, sir. Many people will consider your pet as a symbol of wealth and good luck. A very useful animal, _ne_? We're more open-minded nowadays."

Sanzo glowered at the man, trying to find possible ulterior motives. Apparently there was none. "Yeah, you're certainly open-minded people," he said with sarcasm. "I've never—"

"Sanzo?" Goku's murmur was very dull.

"I'm here," Sanzo answered, lightly touching Goku's shoulders with his fingertips.

"My hands…" Goku turned in his seat and raised his hands in the air, his expression confused. "See?"

"You need a bath," Sanzo said. "Go to the bathhouse and wait for me there."

"But…"

Sanzo grabbed Goku's elbow and hoisted him to his feet. "Go," he commanded. "And stay there. Don't talk to anyone, do you hear me?" He passed Hakuryu over. "You two take care of each other."

Goku nodded, all big guileless eyes—just a young boy deferring to his father figure. A terrible falsehood, but one of the purest truths in Sanzo's life.

The clerk hurriedly stepped aside, almost upturning a box of papers when Goku wobbled in his direction to exit the tiny office.

"I need a guide to show me where my servants are," Sanzo said when they were alone. "Someone who—"

"Sir, I—I can't help you, I've done enough. I'm—"

"You've done enough, all right, you fucking idiot," Sanzo growled, gripping the back of the chair where Goku had sat. "Why didn't _you _call me when they were threw out or whatever from this shit hole?"

"There was no time!" Ji Hui bristled. "Besides, _you_ gave me specific orders not to be disturbed—"

"_Disturbed_?" Sanzo repeated, incredulous. "Let me explain to you what to be _disturbed_ means. _Disturbed_ is when you try to take a bath and a woman hangs around you, trying to see you naked; _disturbed_ is when you try to meditate and you have a child breaking things and screaming her lungs out; _disturbed_ is when you try to sleep because you have a long journey ahead tomorrow and fireworks are going off, while a hag raves about her ruined vacation! Now, if I haven't made this perfectly clear, let me tell you that a life or death situation like the one you had to deal with doesn't fit into any of the aforementioned categories!" Unaccustomed to long speeches, Sanzo stopped, gasping. He was losing time. He had to take his own share of responsibility for what had happened, instead of spitting accusations onto this Nobody. And he did not have the right to commit any more mistakes from now on.

"I could have called the soldiers, but I didn't!" Ji Hui retorted, incensed. "I passed the message to that crazy brat of yours, I told him to warn the others about the danger! I didn't tell Gao-sama about you and the red-eyed one being together, and he's going to fire me if he knows that I stood aside, pretending ignorance! If your little demon told the maids in the kitchen that it arrived here with three companions and one dragon, well, guess what? I'm going to lose my job, because Gao-sama is the type who likes to ask questions and those women are the types who avidly answer them! So, I risked my job for some worthless youkai! Your youkai! The ones you brought here as pigs ready for the slaughter!"

Sanzo walked to the door. "I don't have the time or disposition to hear your pathetic excuses. But mark my words. If something happens to one of my teammates… I have never killed a human being before, but you are going to be the first."

The clerk froze. "Monks—monks don't kill."

"Ah, Ji Hui-san," Sanzo sneered without bothering to turn back around. "If you only knew."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 **

Goku was already naked when Sanzo entered the bathhouse. The monkey sat listlessly on a low cedar bench and neither him nor the maid kneeling in front of him were aware of Sanzo's presence in the steamy room—only Hakuryu, curled in a corner, lifted his head in mute greeting.

"Ah, Go-chan, what happened to you, hmm?" The woman dipped a cloth into a bucket and pressed it against Goku's torn hands. "Does it hurt?"

No answer. No reaction.

"We have to clean these wounds, Go-chan," she continued, reaching out with her free hand to caress Goku's chest. "Is it better now?" she said in a raspy voice. "I'm sure it is." Her hand kept sliding down and Goku's sudden jerk was a good indication that she now fondled a very sensitive area. "I'll make you feel good, my lovely, lovely boy—"

"Enough!" Sanzo said angrily, stepping forward. The woman stood up and bowed several times.

"Ah, sir," she stammered, wiping her hands on her hips. "You gave me a start! I—I cleaned the cuts on Goku-sama's hands. I've also filled the tub and was going to—"

"Molest him?" Sanzo finished for her coldly.

"Sir! I was only—"

"You will 'only' bring me ointment and bandages for his hands. And you will 'only' knock on the door when you return. Now, get out."

She left, very flushed. Sanzo went to Goku and hauled him to his feet.

"Sanzo?" Goku's croak was barely perceptible. "I didn't bath yet. Shun was helping me—"

"Yeah, I know the kind of help she was willing to provide. Come on, clean yourself. We can't waste more time."

Goku swayed in place, face blank. Sanzo seized him by one arm and dragged him towards the tub. "Hop in," he commanded impatiently. Goku complied, letting out a moan when he sank into the warm water. Sanzo fumbled beneath a pile of folded towels, grabbed the first bar of soap his fingers touched, and extended it to the boy. "Here, use this."

Goku looked up, frowning. "Food?" he asked tonelessly.

Sanzo cursed under his breath and Goku flinched, raising his hands to his head. Sanzo paused for a moment, then rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "I can't believe that I have to do this," he said, exasperated. "The gods must be laughing their fucking heads off." He then pulled his sleeves up and started lathering Goku's back.

"Sanzo!" Goku squeaked in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"If Gojyo finds out that I gave you a bath, neither of us will ever hear the end of this," Sanzo mumbled, pulling a flustered Goku closer. "So, this particular scene did _not _happen as far as I'm concerned. Got it?"

"I—"

"I asked you if you understood, Goku. That's a yes or no answer."

"Yes."

"Good. Now," Sanzo prompted, tapping Goku's right knee none too gently, "give me your foot."

Goku obeyed, gaping as he watched Sanzo scrub his foot. "Hakkai said that we must wash before getting into the bathtub," he ventured after a while. "So we won't soak in our own filth."

"Yeah, and you should listen to him," Sanzo answered, amused that Hakkai had bothered to teach proper behavior to this little savage. "How are you feeling?"

"I—I'm fine. Just … strange. It's—it's like when I'm asleep but yet not asleep, and I want to wake up, but I can't—"

"You're in shock," Sanzo said. "Give me the other foot."

"And my hands—"

"Keep them under water," Sanzo ordered quietly. No need to ask questions about those claw marks; he had already seen them when Goku was relearning how to live outside his cave. Back then, Goku had dealt with his fear and uneasiness by turning against the only target his mind identified at the time: himself. That he had recovered, and been levelheaded even during the direst times of their quest—at least according to Son Goku's comparative parameters—was a testament to his inner strength. Some cataclysm must have shaken his narrow world, something that Sanzo would have to know about and do his best to prevent occurring again. His team's odds were overwhelming enough without having one member freaking out like this. "You're also covered in bruises," he commented, lathering Goku's hair.

"I fell," Goku said shyly.

"Fell?" Sanzo pressed Goku's crown and the boy whimpered. "There's a bump here the size of an egg."

"I fell. On the stairs. I tried—tried to go after Hakkai and Gojyo, then… Maybe for six or seven steps I just fell."

Sanzo shook his head. What had that harridan said to her daughter again? Something like… "How many times have I told you not to run on the stairs?"

Goku turned to look at him, confused. "Uh? I don't remember you saying—"

"Who was buried alive?"

Goku widened his eyes. "So did you feel _it_?"

"Feel what, exactly? Be specific."

"But… You _didn't _feel anything?" Goku sounded disappointed. "I thought… Shit, never mind. Hakkai and Gojyo—"

"—need us," Sanzo interrupted bluntly. "Yes, I know. Answer my question."

"It's—it's nothing. Only … memories."

Sanzo hesitated for a second. 'Nothing' and 'only memories' would not trigger that kind of reaction. Goku's eyes flashed up to his again, begging him to let the subject go.

And he did.

At least for now.

"All right." Then he dunked the boy as a fast way of rinsing his hair.

Goku emerged spluttering, his eyes much clearer. Sanzo grabbed a towel and tossed it to him, his mask of indifference once more firmly in place. "Come on, get out of there and dry yourself."

"Our luggage––"

"—was brought down after my interesting talk with the clerk." Sanzo approached Hakuryu, and asked in a softer tone, "What about you? Are you wounded?"

"He's fine." Goku's voice was muffled by the towel. "I checked—actually Shun checked him over."

"Oh, really?" Sanzo taunted, scooping Hakuryu up. "Shun has been a very busy bee, hasn't she?" There was a short rap on the door. "And here comes helpful Shun again, right in time to appreciate your danglies!" He ignored Goku's protests and went to open the door. An unknown woman stood there at a respectful distance, a basket in her hands.

"Wrappings and ointments for the boy's hands, sir," the woman said. "As asked."

"Where's Shun?" Goku demanded, stepping forward naked as the day he was born.

The woman barely spared him a glance. "Shun is attending another guest, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Sanzo raised an eyebrow. "We're leaving," he said, accepting the basket. "See that bag over there?" He tilted his head towards the pond and the woman turned briefly. "Fill the empty bottles in it with water and find us some non-perishable food."

The woman bowed. "Yes, sir. Right away."

No attempts to pry behind doors. No intrusive looks. No meaningless chitchat. No blushing, fidgeting, or giggling. This one was certainly much more sensible. Sanzo gave her a rare "Thank you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17 **

The first thing he noticed was the absence of a window: their air and light would have to come from the corridor. Then, the emptiness. There were no facilities such as a bunk or a bucket for bodily waste in the claustrophobic square cell—which consisted of a low ceiling, three crude stone walls, and one side barred with iron.

Fuck, but he had been _stupid_!

"Gojyo?"

He kept pulling at the bars, pacing and crouching, ignoring the pain in his left arm. His burdensome, annoying arm, which now throbbed as if it were being jabbed with needles in the rhythm of the one-word thought that now chanted in the back of his head:

_Stupid, stupid, stupid— _

"Gojyo?"

The door hinges were rusty, but still immovably solid. The same as the lock. He pressed his head in between the bars, trying to see past the corner. It seemed that nobody else was being held prisoner at the moment; every little noise he made disturbed the unpleasant silence and carried along the deserted corridor.

_—stupid, stupid, stupidstupidstupid— _

Caught between his skin and loose bandages, a drop of sweat slowly trailed down the scab on his forearm.

_—stupidstupidstupidstupid— _

"Gojyo?"

"_What?_" The blurted answer sounded harsher than he had intended, so he risked a glance over his shoulder. Hakkai sat in a corner, trying to assess the extent of his injury by feeling his swollen face. His left eye was hidden under his palm. Grimacing, Gojyo quickly looked away. If something happened to _that_ eye…

Suddenly, he hit the lock with a straight left.

"_Gojyo_!"

The surge of white-hot agony was welcomed with morbid satisfaction. Pain was already annihilating his thoughts, his memories, his guilt. For a while he ceased to exist.

The merciful lull did not last long, though. It never did. Too soon he was back to himself, too soon he had a name once more, and a wretched past, and a wretched now, and no future. Wheezing, nauseated, he struggled to his feet, propping himself against the bars. And how had he ended up curled on the floor to begin with?

Hakkai was still calling his name.

"What?" Such a pathetic, pathetic whisper… Shit, he did not want to face Hakkai. Did not want to see the damage he had caused—the blood, the soiled clothes, the reproaching frown waiting for him. Gojyo could never, ever, say that he had lost Sanzo's respect and friendship due to his own stupidity since one must have something before losing it. But Hakkai…

He could not lose Hakkai!

_So damned stupid! _

"Gojyo? Can you come here? Please?"

Was there concern in the soft voice? Concern for _him_?

Gojyo blinked and snapped up his head. Hakkai had a hand extended, beckoning. A bloodied hand. Incredulous, he stared at it. Then exploded.

"Fuck, man! How can you be so cool with all this?" he demanded angrily as each frantic heartbeat sent a torturing surge of pain through his bad arm. "You should be pissed at me!"

"You're angry enough with yourself for both of us," Hakkai said. And the mild, non-confrontational answer only increased Gojyo's fury several notches.

"Don't you understand, man?" he shouted or tried to; his dry throat kept choking his words. "Didn't you fucking _see_? I almost killed you!"

"No. A human with a gun almost killed me."

Gojyo grasped his left wrist and squeezed, squeezed as if it was a ripe fruit, extracting from his shifting bones the very essence of his despair. "Because of me!" he hissed. "I was stupid, I wasn't thinking, I got mad with that son of a bitch because he hit you and spat on you, and I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill them all, those motherfuckers, and you should have let me take that bullet, it was for me, it should have hit me, and it was what I deserved for being so stupid, so—"

"Gojyo."

Hakkai still had his arm out for him, like a bridge trying to overcome an abyss—and the unwonted imagery instantly allayed Gojyo's panic. Only three steps separated them and Gojyo hobbled forward, eyes on the floor, until he met Hakkai's tainted hand with his own. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at their clasped fingers. He knew he was not safe ground to build bridges upon; he knew that he was the abyss itself. But Hakkai… Hakkai always reached out for him, wherever they were, whatever Gojyo had done, to bring him back. Hakkai would break his falls and take bullets on his behalf and shrug off all and every one of his blunders.

Hakkai would forgive him.

Holding his breath, Gojyo looked up. Hakkai's fake eye stared at him, frightening in its deadness now there was no longer a monocle to hide the lack of movement; the true one, though… Gojyo sighed. As always, he was offered a shelter. A harbor. A home. "How—how's your head?" he murmured through gritted teeth.

"Sore," Hakkai answered, smiling sheepishly. "It could be worse, you know."

Gojyo nodded numbly. Well, yes; if the bastard who had fired—the one he had not considered when attempting his attack—had been holding his gun more to the right, the bullet would have made a hole in Hakkai's forehead. "Yeah, I suppose. But still…"

Still he had been stupid.

Hakkai smiled again and urged him to sit on the floor by his side, tugging at his hand until both of them were huddled against the crude wall. Gojyo grimaced, then relaxed a bit. If not for the torturing pain in his arm, the contact with Hakkai's warm body would be the most comforting thing he had experienced in a long while. It could be worse, indeed; actually, after the beating in the park, the game on the stairway, and the humiliating frisking followed by the trip in the wagon—in which one of those perverts had continuously rubbed his buttocks with an erection—Gojyo was expecting a much darker scenario than this anticlimactic respite. The prison building had been impressive enough, true, as well as the number of dark-clad humans hanging around in the inner courtyard. But the only surprising thing that had happened so far was that an older soldier had directly addressed _him, _the Dangerous Man-Eater, asking for his 'documents.' When Gojyo had explained that he had none, the man had averted his eyes with an unreadable expression. Once in this cell, the soldiers had untied his and Hakkai's hands and left them alone. Apparently, some superior officer was awaited to conduct their interrogation.

This was an unexpected bonus: it bought Sanzo more time to find them. Perhaps Sanzo was already upstairs, demanding their release. The fake priest could be furious at Gojyo, could be willing to kill Gojyo himself, but he would not let Hakkai spend a night in jail—not _Hakkai_. Sanzo respected, even liked Hakkai. Listened to him, too, from time to time. They had many things in common, those two.

Gojyo closed his eyes as jealousy washed over him—a spiteful envy that he could not, in good conscience, aim at the other youkai. It was not Hakkai's fault that Sanzo prized his opinions and his company. But the injustice of the whole thing! Too big and too bitter to be swallowed without some serious retching. Because Sanzo cared about Hakkai. And Sanzo cared about Goku. And Sanzo cared about Hakuryu. Only _he_, Gojyo, was not worthy of the monk's respectful feelings. So unfair! Why, why couldn't Sanzo look at him with the same veiled fondness he had for the others? Why was he never good enough?

_You are nothing. _

And it hurt. It hurt to be nothing.

"Gojyo?" Hakkai rasped, managing to convey The Question—_How is your arm?—_into the two syllables of his name.

"I don't—" Gojyo started, then quickly changed to his familiar, "It's okay." It had been a private joke, in the beginning, to reply to the same question with the same answer. Just a way of teasing Hakkai and making him back off a little. Now those words were his lucky charm. Maybe if he repeated them over and over… Maybe he would be able to believe in them himself.

Maybe.

He fidgeted, wanting to find a better position. It was impossible. There was pain. Pain from his shoulder blades…

"Hakkai? Do you—do you think that Sanzo is here already?"

…to his fingertips…

"On his way, most likely."

…setting afire each single nerve in an endless, pulsing circuit. He stretched his legs only to fold them once more. If only they had some water!

"I wish he was faster," Gojyo muttered, looking at Hakkai's profile. Hakkai had dropped his head backwards and now stared at the ceiling, mouth lax. "Hey, Hakkai?" Gojyo brought his arm to his chest, wanting to find a comfortable angle. "You okay? Hakkai?" _Please, say yes! Please be all right! _

"Yes."

The listless answer was clearly just a concession, and Gojyo licked his dry lips, frightened to no end by Hakkai's odd position. "You—you sure you're okay?" he insisted. _Say yes, please, please, please— _

"Yes."

_Liar! _

"You sure? Hakkai? Are you really well?"

_Stop this! The last thing Hakkai needs right now is to be smothered by your personification of Clingy Goku! _

"Yes, Gojyo." A hand rested on his knee, soothingly.

Gojyo grunted, and turned his attention back to their surroundings—otherwise he would keep pestering Hakkai with this childish, nonsensical game.

The cell was so stifling. Gods, there was not enough air in it. And no water, no water at all, and he was a water sprite, or a half-water sprite, so he _needed_ water…

"Where are you going, Gojyo?"

"I think—I think I prefer to stand—"

Hakkai pulled him back. "Don't. Please."

Surprise was quickly replaced by indignation. Was Hakkai thinking that he would have another fistfight with the iron lock? He wouldn't! He knew that his early reaction had been terribly stupid—like his blunder in the park had been terribly stupid. Like everything he did or everything he said or everything he dreamt or everything he was…

Terribly stupid.

And this pain!

"I'll—Hakkai, I just…"

"Stay where you are, Gojyo. Please."

"But—"

But what? His faltering thoughts went completely blank when he looked at the bullet wound on Hakkai's temple. Then he lifted his good hand to trace his own marred cheek. That gash would leave a scar—his stupidity had marked beautiful Hakkai for life.

Fuck, he had promised Jien he would not cry, ever. He had promised!

"Gojyo?"

"I want—water," he stuttered. "I need—"

He was ready to rise to his feet when, with a sudden move, Hakkai hooked an arm around his shoulders, trapping him in place.

Too much. It was too much: Sanzo, last night, this whole day, Sanzo, Hakkai shot, this terrible confinement, Sanzo, this pain, Sanzo, and thirst, and Hakkai shot, and Sanzo, always Sanzo, and pain and thirst and pain and he wanted, needed, craved some water. That was what he was trying to explain to Hakkai in snarled, half-formed words while he struggled to get up—he was going to search for water. Why was it that Hakkai, who understood everything, could not understand _this_!

Hands like steel kept pushing him down until a side of his face was hidden in the folds of Hakkai's open jacket. Frustrated, Gojyo sank his teeth into the thick fabric; and when Hakkai attempted to reason with him, Gojyo started growling from the back of his throat, purposefully drowning out Hakkai's low tones. He did not want to pay attention to any of this. He did not want to think or remember things. He was in pain, and he was thirsty, so he wanted…

(_Sanzo_)

…water.

It was difficult to breathe now, very difficult. Panicked, Gojyo increased his thrashings, clawing furiously at whatever his nails could reach. Part of what was left of his rational mind whispered to him that he was suffocating because he had managed to gag himself with Hakkai's jacket, and that he was hurting an already hurt Hakkai with this preposterous scene, so he should stop this, stop right away, _stop, stop, stop— _

He sagged against Hakkai's chest, exhausted, and immediately Hakkai pried open his locked jaw, pulling from it a good deal of chewed fabric.

Erratic gasps filled the tiny space of their cell for long minutes.

"Shit," Gojyo finally muttered, too tired and too shocked to be properly ashamed. The clerk at the inn, as well as the soldiers in the park, had called him an 'it'. He had surely lived up to the role, hadn't he? "Hakkai, I'm—I'm sorry, I'm…"

"I know. It's all right." Gentle fingers combed through his hair. "Everything will be all right."

_No, it won't. I'm going crazy. _

Gojyo wiped his running nose with his good hand and tilted his head back to meet Hakkai's intense look. "Your head—can you heal yourself?" he asked.

Was _that_ even possible?

Hakkai flashed him a brief smile. "I will try."

Gojyo scrunched his eyes shut when he felt the _chi_ gathering around him, his youkai nature answering to it, reveling in it, summoning it forth, while his human half recoiled, on the defensive, wary of such undiluted power. He was enveloped in warmth, in love, in Hakkai, and only when he felt the tingle through his whole body did he realize that Hakkai was focusing on healing _him_, not himself. He attempted to scream his protest, but soon the experience was over as abruptly as it had started.

"You—why!" he spluttered, feeling weak and disoriented.

Hakkai drew him closer. "Is it better now? Your arm?"

It was numb. Which meant no pain. "You shouldn't have—you…" Dizziness prevented him from a more effective demonstration of anger, so he fumed in silence, too lethargic to argue.

Damn, he used to be so much stronger than this whimpering, defeated demon he had become! Things had not been easy for the past month; Sanzo's constant bashings were undermining all his admittedly not-very-sound defenses. The cursed human knew him too well and exploited his insecurities and his self-destructive tendencies with eerie precision. A word or lack thereof, and Gojyo would not eat his dinner. A look or lack thereof, and Gojyo would stay awake all night long. He was being played like an instrument—by a virtuoso, no less. And all the while there were those confused feelings… Of betrayal, for he had never expected Sanzo to turn his cutting perceptiveness against him. Of desperate longing, for he craved anything that came from the cruel monk.

It was not healthy, this obsession. Too much tension and no rest. Too much booze and no food. Too much cigarette smoke and no calming breaths. Too much Sanzo and no Sanzo. Gojyo's body had already been failing him when the youkai with the studded club had cut him open from shoulder to wrist—the end of _that_ story would have been different if he had had at least one quarter of his real strength at his disposal. If only…

He huffed. His life had always been made of 'if onlys,' hadn't it?

Hakkai was examining his wrist now, testing joints or whatever. Gojyo followed this scrutiny through squinted eyes; and when his fingers were carefully manipulated up and down he let out a laugh, feeling strangely high.

"Is this the first time that you have vented your frustration on your arm?" Hakkai's voice seemed to come from very, very far.

"Uh? Oh. The punch on the lock, you mean? It was stupid, I know. I'm stupid. I know. Can you take off these bandages? They itch."

"No, let's keep them on a little longer," Hakkai replied softly.

"Don't like them."

"Me neither."

"I'm thirsty."

"Me too."

Gojyo hiccupped. Clingy Goku, all right. And the absurdity of his behavior caused him to laugh again, drunkenly. Then he sighed, satisfied, when he felt Hakkai resting his head against his own. The intimacy, even when both of them were so sweaty, so filthy, was pure bliss.

"I'm hungry, Sanzo." Gojyo's whine was slurred, an awful imitation, but yet it elicited a dispirited chuckle from Hakkai.

"Rest now, Gojyo."

Gojyo buried his nose in Hakkai's jacket, not caring about the wet patch his saliva had left there. Now, _that_ had been funny. Hilarious! Those humans should not worry about their limbs when he was around. They should worry about their clothes!

Gods, and it was so good to be free of that pain! Maybe he would be able to sleep without waking up in the middle of the night because of it. And sleep right _here_, in the sanctuary of Hakkai's arms…

"Hakkai?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm claiming this area as my territory. Hakuryu can go and find himself another chest to cuddle up with."

"Agreed," Hakkai rasped fondly. "But _you_ will be the one who is going to break him the news. Dragons can be very possessive."

"I can beat him in a fight." A soft snort stirred Gojyo's hair. "What, don't you believe me? Do you want to bet?"

"My money will be on Hakuryu," Hakkai teased.

"I don't need my left fist or my _shakujou_ to do some serious ass kicking, you know!"

"Your … _shakujou_?"

"Uh? Oh, _that_!" And Gojyo sniffed disdainfully. "I tried to call on it in the park and pffft. Nothing. Not that I would need it to kick Hakuryu's ass or anything."

"Right," Hakkai concurred in a strained voice. "You wouldn't need it."

They stayed like that until Gojyo's euphoric rush was over. As the contours of their grim reality became more precise, he grew tenser, all drugged levity gone. Pain started crawling through his arm once more—the exasperating, chronic pain that had been his constant companion since the youkai ambush. With it came the doubts.

This injury… It should not bother him so much, not after ten days. Not after Hakkai had used his healing _chi_ on him. Twice now. He was half-youkai. It should not bother him so much.

_If I am permanently crippled… What then? _his own Question taunted him.

He was left-handed. He would have to relearn how to do almost everything.

_What then? _

The monk would not want a cripple in his group. What use would a half-breed who could not even defend himself be to him? None.

_What then? _

Fear.

He did not want to leave the team. They were his family now. He did not have anyone else. There was nothing more out there for him. Not with Jien…

(_dead_)

…missing. And inaccessible, like the moon or the stars.

Or like Sanzo.

"Gojyo?"

Fuck, and there was Hakkai again, pulling him from the edge of one more of his personal chasms.

"Yeah?" he croaked as he tightened his hold on his only friend's jacket.

"What happened last night?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18 **

Goku exited the bathhouse impatiently pushing his wet hair out of his face. He spotted Sanzo near the carp pond and rushed to him, calling aloud just for the satisfaction of speaking Sanzo's name. Or title. Or whatever. That special word was his favorite prayer and his favorite song, and Goku knew he would die whispering it.

Surprise made him halt mid-step, choking on the final syllable he liked to stress: Hakuryu now sported a bandage wrapped around his torso.

"What?" he demanded shakily. "Is he hurt, then? Sanzo?"

Sanzo did not bother to look up. He had Hakkai's belongings spread on a bench, sorting through them with a deep frown. Most of the things were being discarded in a pile on the ground, though a few would end up folded and stashed in Sanzo's own bag. "No," came the dismissive answer. "But that dressing stays where it is. And stop screaming."

"But if he isn't hurt, why…" Goku trailed off when Sanzo Glared at him. All right. No more questions. He lowered his head, contrite, blankly taking in the faded bath towel that had slipped from the top of Sanzo's pile. Only then did their newest problem dawn on him.

Their luggage. Four bags—Gojyo's still in the front garden, where it had been dropped—plus supplies were too much for two people to carry, especially if they were already exhausted, in a hurry, and one had his hands badly wounded. And they could not count on Hakuryu, either; it would be impossible to navigate the clogged passageways in the jeep even if the dragon was not hurt.

He bit his lower lip. Towels and bedding did not matter, but Sanzo's old T-shirt—the one his human liked to sleep in—was also there, as well as two pairs of Sanzo's jeans. He swallowed hard when Sanzo added to the pile Hakkai's too-damn-hot (according to Gojyo), too-whorish (according to Sanzo), and too-expensive (according to himself) tight black pants, bought as a joke only the gods knew how many eternities ago. "We can come back for our stuff afterwards, can't we?" he suggested dejectedly.

"No. Pick only what you'll really need and leave the rest. We'll use my bag to carry what we can. Quick."

They always traveled light, but there were some irreplaceable treasures among those ragged items. Hence Sanzo's unusual care with Hakkai's possessions—each pocket was searched and every little thing was saved: a piece of paper, some old coins, a shell on a string. Goku knew that those objects might mean a lot; the Sanzo-ikkou did not carry unnecessary weight, but they did carry odd bits and pieces that summed up their lives. Not that _he_, Son Goku, had or wanted some memento tucked away from Before Sanzo. All he owned in this world had come from Sanzo's hands; therefore, all of it was immeasurably important.

"Move, Goku," Sanzo ordered with impatience. Then, in the same tone, "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," Goku lied, grabbing his bag. At least whatever had come to him at the door and on the stairway seemed to be gone. _If_ anything at all had come to him. Sanzo had felt no otherworldly disturbance, so it was possible—and Goku cringed inside at the thought—that he had actually _had _some sort of episode.

"Goku."

"Huh? Oh." Goku realized that he had been standing still, staring at nothing, and glanced worriedly at Sanzo. "Sorry, I..." _I don't feel too good_. Shit, he had to focus. His friends were in danger. And he was safe with Sanzo—Sanzo's voice would anchor him or bring him back as it always did when he had a nightmare. This was not different from a bad dream, was it?

He upturned the contents of his bag onto the bench, musing whether Sanzo would bother with Gojyo's luggage. Those two seemed to hate each other nowadays. "Sanzo? What about Gojyo's bag?"

No answer.

"Shouldn't we collect it?" he insisted. "Somebody will steal it. I don't trust these humans, they're—"

"Goku," Sanzo growled, "shut up and do what I told you to do."

Goku sighed and began sorting through his own unimportant things. Fuck, but Gojyo would not react well to losing _that_ bauble of his—a woman's ornate comb that had caused a noisy hilarity when Goku had seen it for the first time. They had been sharing a room in a rickety place somewhere, and the kappa, intent on knocking back every beer bottle he could find, had good-naturedly laughed with him. _A special gift from a special lady,_ _saru_, Gojyo had said with a strange glint in his eyes. Later, he had awakened Goku in the middle of the night just to confide that the comb had belonged to his mother. The only thing he had to remember her by.

The story of their lives, all right.

A shadow moved at the kitchen door and Goku jumped, startled.

It was Shun. She leaned against the doorframe, her black eyes following their activity with interest. Goku nervously studied the lit room behind her, half-expecting to see a lurker with much less generous curves taking shape. For a split second, he could swear that he had felt _it _again.

There.

Also watching them.

Sanzo swore, incensed with Shun's scrutiny, and flung to the pile on the ground their old set of mahjong tiles.

_That_ turned Goku's attention back to the task at hand. Suppressing a complaint against such unfairness—after all, Sanzo's nasty fan had found a place in the stuffed bag—he resumed sorting out the rest of his clothing. Bad, bad idea to cross Sanzo—a nasty habit that Gojyo had recently acquired and that was already breaking their team up.

And it seemed that the week at the Temple of the Soul's Retreat had not changed things as far as the pesky water sprite was concerned. Goku was not certain of what he had witnessed the previous night, but after a month of hearing Gojyo talking back to Sanzo, and seeing Sanzo grow angrier and more distant than ever, Goku was not inclined to give Gojyo the benefit of the doubt. Sanzo did not even sleep near them any more and Goku had always liked to go to sleep listening to Sanzo's breathing. "I know he's guilty," Goku said aloud, almost hoping that Sanzo would indeed leave Gojyo's things behind. It would serve the son of a bitch right.

"Who?" Sanzo asked, sounding indifferent. "Who is guilty of what?"

"Ah, it's nothing," Goku muttered as he passed over to Sanzo what he had decided to keep. "Just thinking aloud."

And remembering. The previous night, as a way of saying "Good-bye and Fuck You" to the surly abbot, he had surreptitiously gone to the temple's orchard to pillage the peach trees. As he headed back towards his quarters, sniggering in satisfaction over a well-succeeded raid, a shout had made him halt.

"Go away, demon!" the abbot's voice broke the silence and Goku had turned, ready to apologize, afraid that the old man would call Sanzo to deal with the situation. There was no one with him on the narrow path, though.

"You're behind all this, aren't you?" Gojyo's unmistakable voice intruded then. "You set me up, didn't you?"

Goku had crouched and pushed aside some foliage. The abbot stood in front of one of the lateral doors of the temple, blocking the entrance of a shirtless and visibly shaken Gojyo. There was a third man with them, watching and smiling—the bulky youkai who lived on the grounds of the sanctuary as a favor. The one who had constantly been bumping into them since their arrival.

"Now, now, leave Seikan-sama out of this, Gojyo," the youkai scolded, reaching out for Gojyo in an intimate gesture. "Come on, be a good—"

"Shut up, asshole!" Gojyo evaded the youkai's hands with some difficulty, his eyes on the abbot all the while. He was a ghastly figure under the full moon; the bandaged left arm hung at a disturbing angle, and Goku could count his ribs—even from such a distance, even with a less than satisfactory light—poking out from beneath the skin. "I want to talk to Sanzo. If you won't let me in, go and call him here."

"Sanzo-sama has better things to do than listen to your lies, demon," the abbot answered dramatically. His tone dripped contempt and … triumph? "Show respect! This is a holy place!"

"Then what are you doing here, you fucking pimp?" Gojyo demanded.

The door was slammed.

Shrugging, the big youkai moved closer to Gojyo. "Hey, who cares, eh? Humans, eh?" And the fellow reached out for Gojyo again. "It's still early, why don't we—" Gojyo whirled around and punched him in his mouth, knocking him down. And there the youkai sat, laughing, while Gojyo strode to the woods. Goku had to hide behind a bush to avoid being seen by his retreating teammate. "Hey! Gojyo!" the youkai shouted, still laughing. "That icy monk of yours will never appreciate your fire like I do! Hey! Come back here!"

Goku had returned to the little house the abbot had assigned for 'Sanzo-sama's demons' puzzled by the whole scene and dreading its backlash. For there would be one. There would definitely be one. Some equally vicious answer to whatever stunt Gojyo had managed to pull. He had stayed awake for a long while, hearing Hakkai's mumbling in his sleep and Hakuryu's soft snores, eyes on Gojyo's vacant bunk.

Gojyo, who was so thin…

"If it's 'nothing,'" Sanzo said as he tested his overstuffed bag, "I suggest that you shut up and start paying attention from now on." And he began summarizing what the clerk had said to him in that tiny office. Goku nodded at intervals, knowing that he had been present for a good deal of such a conversation, but too out of reality to recollect a single word of it. "Do you understand what I've just told you so far?" Sanzo prompted, his irritation barely under control. "Goku?"

Goku wrung his hands, not wanting to lie again. Fortunately, Querulous-san chose this particular moment to exit the kitchen. The man ordered Shun back to her pans and came to them, looking anxious. "Your water, sir," he said, extending to Sanzo their bag of supplies. Sanzo took the bag and passed it to Goku. "And I put some food in for you. Our cook is—"

"What about my other necessity?" Sanzo clicked his fingers at Hakuryu, calling him to his shoulder.

"Ah, yes, of course. It's outside, sir. And, before you go, I would like to…"

Unmindful of whatever the clerk might have to say, Sanzo started walking towards the house.

"Sanzo-sama, wait!"

Without turning, Sanzo delayed his pace.

"I'm sorry for my part in all this," the clerk went on hurriedly. "You were right. I should have talked to you when your friends were barred." He bowed and extended a hand, palm open. "Here, accept this gift as an apology. It's—it's a good luck talisman, sir. Or almost one. Take it with you."

Sanzo just kept walking and entered the house. Goku strapped their bag of supplies to his back and, ignoring the clerk's expression of loathing, reached for the gift. And as he closed his torn fingers on a smooth, dark stone, the chubby old man in front of him seemed to become a skinny little child—and, in this eerie transposition, it was _Goku_ who dropped an object into two little avid hands, the green silk he wore shining in the dim light.

_Hui-chan, this is for you, _he heard a soft feminine voice say. _A good luck talisman, ne? _

He snarled through gritted teeth, bracing himself for the flood of gruesome images and more than ready to shout for Sanzo, for help. But there was only a sad, melancholy feeling washing over him—a hint of a disturbance, like a sigh in an empty room. He looked at the wisterias at the far side of the yard. _It_ was there. _She _was there. A delicate figure, completely encapsulated in stillness—the breeze that stirred the leaves did not ruffle her long silver hair or the folds of her green dress. Meek red eyes found his, and he had to fight back tears.

Buried alive.

Like himself.

_Now you know_, she said in his mind.

And she was gone.

Aghast, Goku turned to 'Hui-chan,' wanting to question him about the mysterious lady, but a glance at that contemptuous face crushed the impulse. What else could be said anyway?

Now he knew.

The occurrence brought to his mind another incident—one that had inexplicably stuck with him, even though he could not understand it at the time it had happened. At the beginning of their journey, the Sanzo-ikkou had stopped at a village that was being devastated by a Changed youkai. Sanzo had shot the creature dead, and when the frightened humans had finally approached their savior, a woman had begged the 'holy priest' to go with her and say some prayers for a dying old man. Goku had gone along, just in case, because, according to the woman, the old one was a youkai, and a relative to the demon Sanzo had killed, no less. Uncomfortable, Sanzo had been introduced to a little room reeking of sickness, hands dancing over his gun, prepared to kill again. The youkai, however, just started telling them about a trip he had made with that nephew of his—the boy whose corpse nobody would care to bury. Struggling for every breath, blind eyes very open, the old man had described that trip in vivid terms: the fields, the color of the sky, and how he and his nephew had stopped to eat a meal together, hearing the buzz of bees. How they had caught two big fish in a lake and roasted them in the afternoon. Goku had gaped, mute, unable to make any sense of that last 'confession' at all. That night, he had asked Sanzo about the weird episode as they walked back to their camp. _He just wanted to share a few memories_, Sanzo had explained, his voice very low. _So they won't disappear with him. With them. And now we know. _

Feeling his throat painfully tight, Goku pocketed the 'almost talisman' and followed Sanzo inside. Several people were having dinner in the common room, and as the scent of food was both tantalizing and sickening to his still queasy stomach, he ran to the entrance, leaving Sanzo, who was having some difficulty evading the woman who had tried to help him in the bathhouse, behind.

That door again. That cursed thing again. Closed and…

"Locked." A little girl with a bandage over her nose was sitting on the clerk's desk, feet dangling in the air.

Goku let out a long moan of frustration. The girl giggled and landed on the polished floor with a dull thud. "We're going away, too," she said. "Mommy and me. So they can't charge us for that big vase I broke." She lifted a little hand. "That's why I filched the key from the manager's pocket." Her smile showed the gaps of missing baby teeth. "Here, I'll lend it to you."

_A special gift from a special lady, saru_, Gojyo's voice rang in Goku's ears so clearly that it seemed the kappa was in fact there, teasing him.

"Thank you." Goku accepted the key as Sanzo entered the hall followed by the manager.

"Oh, are you leaving us so soon, honorable monk?" Gao asked in an ironic tone, waving a paper at Sanzo. "That's really a pity. But please, don't forget that we have to deal with the issue of the damage that your friend caused to our door. This is the bill that I…" His voice died off when he saw what Goku had in his hands. "What?" The paper danced in the air and landed at Sanzo's feet. "How?"

Goku inserted the key in the lock, smiling when he heard the wonderful, liberating click. A strong pull and the door hit the wall with a thunderous crash and a shower of pulverized lacquer.

"Works like a good luck talisman, _ne_?" the little girl remarked.

Goku froze, stunned. "What—what did you say?"

Her answer was lost, though, for Sanzo was already marching into the front garden, and Goku shifted his attention to him. With a thumping heart, he watched as Sanzo approached Gojyo's battered old bag—still where Goku had left it—knowing what was at stake here.

"Please," he mouthed soundlessly, despite his grudging thoughts towards Gojyo, "pick it up. Just pick it up."

For a moment, it seemed that Sanzo would not bother to save Gojyo's belongings. Then, with an angry gesture, Sanzo did seize the bag and carried it away.

Sighing in relief, Goku nodded his thanks a last time to the little girl and strode into the garden. He stopped at the gate, showed the key he still held to the surprised manager, then hurled it upwards with all his might. Fireworks burst again and soon enough the piece of metal was just another bright spark in the night sky. The little girl clapped and bounced in happiness.

Laughing, elated, he caught up with Sanzo in the park.

"Sanzo, do you have a plan or will we just go and kick ass?"

"_You_ will take Hakuryu and leave this town immediately," Sanzo countered. "Don't talk to anyone; just keep your head low. Go—"

"What? What are you talking about? I'm going with you!"

"—to the potter's workshop we saw in the outskirts," Sanzo continued, as if he had not been interrupted. "Maybe they won't be working tomorrow because of this Festival. In case there are people there, go to the thickets and hide. If you don't hear from me in a day, go back to the Temple of the Soul's Retreat and warn the abbot. Tell him what's happened here."

"No! You'll need my help!"

From a darkened patch of the park, a young man signaled to them. "My guide is there," Sanzo said. "Take Hakuryu and leave."

"No! I can't leave you—"

"Stop screaming."

"I'm not screaming!" Goku protested hotly. "And I won't hide—" Sanzo cut him off by throwing Gojyo's bag at his chest. "Ouch! Sanzo…"

"You fucking moron, have you not listened at all?" Sanzo hissed. "These people kill youkai without any other reason besides them being youkai! They have firearms! _You_ told me that! _You_ saw them! I'll have a lot to do and to think about, and I _won't _be stumbling over you the whole way!"

"I… It isn't fair! You aren't being fair!" Goku wanted to meet Sanzo's cold logic with sound reasoning—an adult discussing his point of view with another—but his mind could not provide him with good arguments on which to base his position. The whine was there already, much to his chagrin.

"If you want to be useful, do as I say," Sanzo went on. "If something happens to me, someone will have to go back to the temple and warn Seikan."

"As if that petty old fart cares about youkai! You didn't hear him talking about how he wished all demons were—"

"He cares about our mission. He knows it's crucial. And he has a lot of pull in this area."

"But, Sanzo—"

"Stop."

"But…"

Sanzo gave him a Glare, silencing any further protest, and transferred Hakuryu to his right shoulder. Goku lowered his head, accepting defeat. The second, heavier bag was handed over to him with much more diligence. "You'll take care?" he begged Sanzo. "You'll come back with Hakkai and Gojyo?"

No reassuring answer. No redemptive promises. No lies. That was what made Sanzo so trustworthy.

And so harsh.

Long after Sanzo had disappeared into the maze, Goku was still standing there, numb, removed from everything, clutching in his wounded hands all his and his friends' worldly possessions. Breathing in time to the accelerated rhythm of Hakuryu's heartbeats.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19 **

"I don't want to pry, Gojyo." The whisper barely disrupted the painful silence of the tiny cell. "But I've seen you neglecting yourself and Sanzo burning with anger and Goku totally lost amidst all this." Hakkai sighed and went on, "We aren't a team anymore. That's why we can't look away, hoping for our problems to solve themselves as we used to. There isn't enough understanding or enough camaraderie to do the trick. This nightmarish day is proof of that."

Gojyo burrowed deeper into their mutual slouch. His answer, when it finally came, was muffled by Hakkai's jacket. "I never meant to endanger our mission," he said defensively. "I didn't want to break us up."

"Gojyo," Hakkai said quietly, "I'm not accusing you of anything."

"But Sanzo blames me. And so does Goku." A nervous snort. "The _saru _doesn't count, though, _ne_? If the fake priest said that biscuits grow in lakes, that _baka _would make a rod to catch them."

A long, noncommittal pause.

Gojyo knew that Hakkai, being Hakkai, had those polite limits of his and would not pressure him unless deemed absolutely necessary. Their present condition fitted into the category of Very Serious Issues, of course; hence the earlier demand for a 'talk,' the direct question about 'last night,' and now this mute, patient waiting—all the equivalent of a 'What The Fuck Is Happening?' in vernacular Hakkainese. Too tired and too sore to care any longer, Gojyo finally gave in. "Everything started a month and a half ago," he started. "It was when I first noticed Sanzo ogling me. Or I think that I noticed Sanzo ogling me. And if you're going to say that Sanzo doesn't ogle anyone, I'll spare you the trouble of hearing more of this shit and go hang myself on the bars."

"So was it _Sanzo_ who began this whole debacle?" Hakkai asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

"Yeah, he started it, mom," Gojyo answered, closing his eyes briefly. It did not matter if Sanzo's version told a different story whatsoever. "And I… I was thrilled at the beginning. Sanzo is, uh, beautiful. Since I first saw him I couldn't stop myself from wondering how it would be … well, you know. How it would be with him. But I wouldn't have dared to approach the damned monk without a hint. Because you know how Sanzo _is_."

"Do I?"

Gojyo snickered. "Should I give you a definition? To you, of all people?"

"Yes, please," Hakkai's voice was almost inaudible; Gojyo would not have heard it had he not been resting his head on Hakkai's chest.

"Okay, it's not as if we have better things to do at the moment," Gojyo conceded tiredly. "Sanzo: the Unreachable One. That's how he is. Or how he likes to present himself to the world. He can't be just one more regular man, with emotions and desires like the rest of us plebe. Not _Sanzo_. It's kind of funny, really, because in our group he's the least human in that sense. You know all this, Hakkai, why are you asking?" He curled further down, leaning against Hakkai's thigh. "And what does Sanzo think of me? Not a secret, either."

"So, with a real or imaginary invitation, you entered a new territory with Sanzo," Hakkai said, fingers once more combing through Gojyo's hair.

"Yes," Gojyo breathed. He tried to concentrate on Hakkai's touch instead of on the throbbing pain in his left arm. "That's one way of putting it."

"Did you try to talk to him?"

Gojyo huffed, folding his bad arm. "Sanzo? Talk to _Sanzo_?" he spat, hating the defensive, whiny tone that had crept into his voice. Of course Hakkai, being Hakkai, would suggest such a perfectly rational solution. But he, being just Gojyo, had not even considered the possibility at the time of those first subtle looks. He was not good with words. If he had chosen this particular weapon to fight his battle, Sanzo would have reduced him to a stammering mess as soon as he opened his mouth. How could a lowly half-demon like himself dream of facing on equal terms the acerbic and cultured high priest in this field? _Hakkai_ was the one who would be able to do it. Hakkai was well read, had attended reputable schools. Gojyo could picture the hypothetical clash between them as one would watch two soaring birds in a mating flight. There would be witty exchanges of elaborated metaphors; sensual imageries would be woven and entwined with a vocabulary dripping secret meanings; and they would reach their climaxes to the sound of each other's voices…

Incongruently, as if it had been addressed to him, the soldier's taunt in the park played again in his mind: _I suppose it's hard to recite poetry from that position. _It was. Gojyo could only stare up, pining for something he would never be. Or have.

As always.

And then there was envy. And jealousy. And anger.

"No, I didn't _talk_," he bristled. "I'm not like you, I'm only a stupid half-breed, so excuse me if I can't recite poetry when I feel like screwing another guy."

The petting stopped and Gojyo winced at his own childish behavior. The aggression was totally unjustified—none of this was Hakkai's fault. And to use against his friend that sergeant's cruel remark… "Hakkai, I—shit, I'm sorry," he choked out. "I didn't want—fuck, I _am_ a stupid asshole—" He fisted his left hand and immediately pain tightened its tentacles.

Hakkai shifted position and rested a hand on Gojyo's fist, coaxing him to unclench. Cornered, very ashamed, Gojyo resumed his account. "I didn't talk to Sanzo, but I made … overtures. I let him know that I knew he wanted me, and that it was okay, that I wanted him too. I offered myself to him like a whore."

Silence.

Gojyo squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for Hakkai's explosion.

"And Sanzo didn't accept your offer with good grace," Hakkai summarized calmly, without any trace of criticism. The soothing lilt dragged Gojyo out of the circuit of self-hatred that his busy thoughts were now reshaping into darker, murkier scenarios, and, despite everything, he had to smile. How did Hakkai do that? Each and every time, he knew what to say, when to speak, and the exact tone to break into Gojyo's defenses. Such a rare, rare gift…

"Nope," he said, suddenly amused, anchored on Hakkai's infinite solidity. "The little shit just flipped out. And made our lives hell. _Then_ we had a direct confrontation. I called him a coward and he called me a whore."

"When was that?" Hakkai whispered.

For a moment, Gojyo was tempted to say 'Last night' and finish this interrogatory once and for all. But it would not be fair. Hakkai was suffering because of his blunderings and he deserved to know the truth. "Ten days ago… The night I got this fucking injury," he answered. "Sanzo went out, do you remember? After we had to go back to that village and get a place for you to patch me up, Sanzo disappeared for a while." He waited for Hakkai's grunt of acknowledgement before continuing, "Well, I waited for him to come back. To settle things, you know? But we—we fought." Gojyo risked a guilty glance up. Hakkai was studying him with piercing intensity, but there was no anger. No accusations. Gojyo dropped his head back on Hakkai's thigh, in a mixture of shame and relief. Hakkai was still his friend.

The same could not be said about Goku: things between them had become very strained and Gojyo was well aware that it would be impossible to keep Goku's friendship after being kicked out of the group. Some torn things simply could not be mended. Like Hakkai's eye. Like his own marred face.

Like Jien's white shirt.

On the night of the youkai ambush, after Sanzo had stormed out of their shabby rented house, Gojyo had sat in the parlor with a collection of beer bottles to wait for him. Sensing something out of kilter, Goku had flustered around with a critical frown that would make their human proud. "Where are you going with that, _saru_?" Gojyo had croaked, very dizzy. Blood loss, the last vestiges of Hakkai's _chi_, alcohol and Sanzo had that effect on a man.

"I'm going to throw it in the garbage." Goku waved in the air the pitiful remains of Jien's shirt. "It's ruined."

"Give me that. It's mine."

"Okay." Goku tossed the bloodied shirt on the table, sending an anxious look to the door. "What you're going to do with that is beyond me."

"Everything is beyond you, _baka_."

Goku sniffed, superiorly disregarding the lame joke. "Don't you think we should go after him? It's dangerous to wander alone—"

"Go to sleep, Goku. Sanzo can take care of himself." _And of his youkai, too_. The thought energized him, and there was an interested stir between his legs. "He's only taking some fresh air. When he gets tired of being bitten by the mosquitoes, he'll come back."

Goku hesitated at the foot of the narrow wooden stairs, then nodded. "And you? Won't you come?"

"Later." Gojyo lifted a beer bottle. "There's still three of these pretty babies needing my attention. And don't wake Hakkai; he's frazzled after wasting so much of his _chi_ on me."

"Of course I won't wake Hakkai," Goku replied, annoyed. "I'm not you, who always comes in late, stumbling around and waking everybody."

Gojyo twisted his mouth at his bottles. It was easy to dismiss Goku's indignant glare when he had Sanzo's Glowering Eyes to fill his fantasies. Those violet eyes locked onto his while the gun was shot … and shot…

Finding himself alone, he started breathing through his mouth, floating in a haze of numbed pain and unfulfilled longing. It was a precarious but perfect equilibrium; any movement, any attempt at alleviating one or the other would shatter this state of suspension. Ever so slightly, he dared to lick a droplet of sweat collecting above his lips. And, oh, how he would love to run his tongue over Sanzo's jaw, to feel with it the blond stubble, and taste the salty skin…

Shit, he _needed _to touch, to feel, to drink, to bath in Sanzo. So he waited for Sanzo to come back, his eyes on Jien's bloodstained shirt.

The house crackled in the day's lingering heat.

And Gojyo waited until he was Wait.

A moth circled the lantern over the table, beating its wings against the dirty rice paper.

And Gojyo wanted until he was Want.

The trance was broken by a light step at the door—which was opened to reveal Sanzo's silhouette against the clear summer night. Then…

"What are _you_ doing up?" Those cold, cold tones.

Suddenly, Gojyo was lost and his not-quite-so-planned seduction just a faraway dream. He gained his feet, wavering pathetically. "I, huh—I was … waiting for you. To say, er, thanks for saving my life."

Stupid. It just sounded plainly, thoroughly, absolutely stupid.

Sanzo stared at him, face impossible to read, before heading to the stairs without saying a single word.

Desperate, Gojyo jumped to block his way. "Wait, Sanzo! Just—"

"Get out!" Sanzo did not bother with lowering his voice this time.

Gojyo held up his good hand in a placating gesture. He should have rehearsed what he was going to say, because his mind was a blank now. There was that question, though—that important question which had been haunting him. So he blurted it out, clumsily, without any preambles: "Sanzo, did I misunderstand everything? Did I misunderstand everything between us?"

To receive an answer, and a truthful one, suddenly was crucial; he was tired of veiled ambiguities. He also felt himself on the verge of a revelation, something that he could sense very near but which he had not been able to grasp until now. His right hand shook in the air, mimicking his mind's desperate inner search.

"Us?" Sanzo raised one eyebrow and stepped aside. "I don't have any idea of what you're talking about."

"What do you mean? I—wait!" To stop Sanzo from leaving, Gojyo grabbed his shoulders.

And then there it was. In his hands. He had seized the intangible at last. He, Sha Gojyo, was in love with Genjo Sanzo. He, Sha Gojyo, loved Genjo Sanzo. That was why Sanzo's harsh words hurt so much, cut so deeply. That was why a kind gesture or a warm word—not that there were many of those—would send him flying with happiness. That was why he had almost cried when telling the others how he had been rescued while Hakkai patched his arm together. Rescued by the man he loved. And how trite was that? And how wonderful. Awed, Gojyo skimmed his fingertips over Sanzo's chest.

The riposte was immediate. Sanzo shoved him against the wall, unmindful of his injury, a gloved hand clutching his throat. "I should have let that demon—no, _I_ should have killed you."The hiss did not resemble anything that a human voice would produce. "Stop playing games with me, youkai! Are you listening to me? Stop playing games or I _am_ going to kill you!"A vicious shake and then that punishing claw kept squeezing. Gojyo slipped down a little, unable to breathe. "Do you think I'll be just one more of your easy lays, whore?" Sanzo loomed over him, breathing on his face, and Gojyo struggled to force that air into his lungs—not because he desperately needed it, but because it had been inside Sanzo's body, because it was warm with Sanzo's heat. And he was growing hard, oh, gods, he was growing so hard… Sanzo widened his eyes when he felt the bulge between Gojyo's parted legs, and, for a split second, Gojyo thought that his offer would be accepted. That Sanzo would take him right there, standing against the crude wall.

"You've been warned, you useless drunk," Sanzo growled, then dropped his hand and strode towards the stairs.

Defeated, humiliated, Gojyo slid all the way down to the floor. "You are a coward, monk!" he called, no longer worried about possible prying ears. "A coward! I know what I saw! I know you have the hots for me, you coward! Deny as much as you want, but I _know_."

Sanzo halted his ascent and looked down with such loathing that Gojyo flinched.

"You know nothing, half-breed. You are nothing."The composed, matter-of-fact statement was followed by a shrug, as if this trivial issue was not worthy of discussion. "Oh, by the way. Just for the record. If I were willing to fuck someone of your kind, be assured that it wouldn't be you, whore. I've seen the ravages that syphilis can do to a man. So… No, thanks_._"And Sanzo tranquilly mounted the steps without a glance backwards.

Gojyo just sat where he had fallen, nauseated, head pounding, the pleasurable high of Hakkai's _chi_ gone, the alcoholic numbness wearing off along with the rest of the night. At some point, the throb in his arm grew unbearable and he welcomed the distracting, all-encompassing pain. When the first sunrays started streaming through the slits in the closed windows, he finally stood and wobbled towards the table to fetch Jien's shirt. Then he saw it.

The moth lay dead by the still burning lantern.

"What about our stay in the temple?" Hakkai's voice called him back to their cell. "Sanzo was more reasonable there."

Gojyo cleared his throat, glad for the end of their respite. "Ah, yeah. The temple. Sanzo did not look directly at me even once while we were there. I wanted to apologize, you know, for having presumed too much. For insulting him with my overtures. For calling him a coward." A derisive snort. "Not that he didn't owe me an apology, too."

"And something happened yesterday," Hakkai said.

Gojyo grimaced. "Yeah. Zenko."

"Zenko?" A pause, as if Hakkai was trying to connect the name with a face. "The youkai jack-of-all-trades at the temple? The one with the wolf face?" His voice rose, echoing in the hollowed corridor.

"Yeah, that one," Gojyo muttered. "Zenko. He … well, he fancied me. He hit on me since day one. He followed me around and told me his sad story. How his parents died when he was a small child, how the monks of the temple had raised him. How he had to deal with prejudice everywhere he went. How he worked like a slave, how he had no place to go. And how it was difficult to get a lay because the humans did not like him. Women were afraid of his appearance; men mocked him every chance they got. But, according to him, I was also a 'taboo child,' a pariah, so I would understand him. Corny, but it had its charms sometimes."

"Gojyo, what does Zenko's sad life have to do with one of the saddest days of _our _lives?"

"Yesterday—I was thinking of Sanzo and... Fuck, I did nothing else the whole week, to tell you the truth. I rehearsed what I would say to him; I mean, how I would try to explain myself without being killed."

"When you had that confrontation of yours…" Hakkai trailed off, then continued, "Did Sanzo tell you what he thought about this dance of yours?"

"He called it a game," Gojyo answered bitterly. "He said I was playing games with him. I'm not. I'm not playing games! But about last night. I was in the orchard, appreciating the sunset, when I saw Sanzo walking in my direction, coming from the woods. He was—his expression… He was like the old Sanzo again, you know? He looked more sociable. I thought he was going… Maybe I thought, okay, here he comes to apologize for saying those hurtful words, and I'll tell him that there's no need, no harm done."

"And?"

"He passed by me. As if I wasn't there at all. As if I were … nothing."

_You are nothing_. Sanzo's words came back to him in all their agonizing pain, as well as Sanzo's icy eyes, Sanzo's sneers, Sanzo's contempt, Sanzo's utter, devastating hatred.

Gojyo sat up, and this time Hakkai let him move. "I was so pissed that I went directly to Zenko and said 'Okay, let's do it.' I went to his house after you and Goku were asleep. Zenko lives near where we were lodging, in that house with the thatched roof."

"You had sex with that youkai out of spite?" Hakkai asked slowly.

"I know," Gojyo mumbled, without looking his friend in the eyes. "I'm a despicable whore. I'm a slut. I know. Hakkai, there is more. Sanzo saw us together. Really together, if you understand what I mean."

"What? How?"

"He just … came in. I turned my head and saw him at the door of Zenko's room, staring at me. At us. I think—I _know_ Zenko planned the whole scene with that abbot. Do you remember how the old man liked to rant about 'youkai's perversion' and 'youkai's bestiality' when Sanzo wasn't around? Maybe Sanzo told him something, maybe the old man just noticed that his precious Sanzo had something going on with the lowly half-demon. Then he sent Sanzo to Zenko's house last night, to see for himself the two youkai rutting. That's why Sanzo was so angry this morning."

Hakkai sighed. "Gojyo, whatever Sanzo saw or didn't see; whatever he wants or doesn't want… He doesn't have any right to treat you so badly. To call you names. You know this, don't you?"

Gojyo's only answer was a lowered head.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20 **

The street was long and straight, a rarity in such a labyrinthine town. Stores, plazas, and crowds had been left behind a while ago and now Sanzo followed his guide through a residential, and much poorer, area. There were vacant lots taken over by weeds in between some of the darkened houses—which did not sport the colorful banners and lanterns of the Festival. In the distance, though, fireworks popped and drunken voices cheered: the party went on, unfolding itself into a different version of reality.

"Sanzo-sama?" The guide, a boy of about fourteen who had introduced himself as Bai, pointed to the right when they reached a corner. "It's there, sir, right ahead."

Unimpressed, Sanzo took in the unpaved alley marked by horses' hooves. A few gas lamps lit the way to a gate set in a high bulwark some meters ahead.

"I must go now, Sanzo-sama. Good luck."

Sanzo grabbed the boy by a sleeve. "Wait! Do you know the name of the officer who's in charge here?"

"Captain Wu Tai. But I don't believe he'll be here at this hour, let alone on a holiday's eve." Bai pulled his arm free, offered a quick bow, and scurried off.

Sanzo stood frozen for a moment, then headed for the gate. The moonlight elongated his shadow into a grotesque shape, increasing his sense of alienation. He was used to having three demons walking along with him, each adding a distinctive accompaniment to the rhythm of his footsteps. He was used to having their shadows merging into his.

Suddenly, a part of the metal gate was opened, and a figure leaned against it to watch his progress.

"Ah, the bad-mannered monk," came a scornful greeting. "Alone. What about the guy who likes rice with honey and the beast that can change into a vehicle, hmm? We were taking bets here. About whether you would all come or run away like frightened rabbits. It seems that only one had the guts to show its snout."

Sanzo stopped in front of the man. How could he know so much? The idea of a stranger orbiting around him and his teammates just to pass on information about them was disgusting. But it had evidently happened, and he searched his memories, trying to remember if their unforgivable carelessness would entail more risks. What had that clerk said? _I saw your friend's reaction in the kitchen, and then there was no way I could have mistaken it for a human_. Buddha! Who else had witnessed whatever Goku had done to betray his nature? As for his gun… He had hidden it even in the bathhouse, so the servants had not seen it. Or had they? Suddenly those women's constant hovering did not feel like just an innocuous nuisance any more.

He ran a hand through his bangs to buy himself time to calm his heart and his thoughts. "Since you are so well informed, you already know why I'm here," he said coldly, squinting at the man's dark uniform. "I want to talk to Captain Wu Tai."

The soldier slouched even more, fingers dancing over the handle of the gun he had tucked in his belt. "Bossy, hmm? You foreigners are all the same. The captain isn't here. Come back next week. Or maybe next month. Or never. _That _would be the smartest move to make, you know."

"I demand to speak with whoever is in charge here, right now," Sanzo responded, his temper firmly in check.

"You demand?" The soldier's laughter was genuine. "Sorry, monk, but in this place you demand nothing."

Not willing to embark on a merry verbal chase, Sanzo upped his bet. "I was informed that I have to see about some papers," he said. "For the youkai you have here. Some kind of pass. Where can I see to this?"

Unlike Sanzo, the soldier was not good at keeping his face impassive when a blow hit its target; the man grimaced and planted his feet well apart on the ground. Sanzo almost smiled. _Getting defensive, you son of a bitch? You were not counting on someone in this shit hole willing to help a youkai, were you? _

"The office that provides that kind of document is already closed," the soldier mumbled. "And it'll be closed tomorrow, because of the Festival." A short pause, then he added, more conversationally, "You know, that's why I'm not a religious person anymore. What kind of priest are you, coming after a demon? Do you think you're above even your own faith?"

"What's your name, sentry?" Sanzo asked condescendingly.

"What does _that_ have to do with—"

"Because I intend to mention your name and your conduct to your superior officer," Sanzo explained in the same tone. "Be it today, next week, next month or next year, I'm going to mention your name to him. Or, better yet, to the main authority of this town. I'm sure that there will be some very interesting repercussions of this little incident."

"Oh, really?" the soldier countered. "And why should anyone listen to _you_, youkai lover?" He spat at Sanzo's feet. "If you're so powerful, why don't you ask Buddha to come down here and free your pet monster?"

"You may or may not have heard about me in this forsaken place," Sanzo said, "but _I _have documents that prove my story true. I'm Genjo Sanzo, leader of a group chosen and sent on a vital mission by Kanzeon Bosatsu. Since you like to ridicule holy issues, perhaps you could write this down as a reference for your future jokes?"

There was a flicker in the soldier's eyes, a hint of doubt that could have been triggered by some kind of recognition. Though Sanzo did not expect his quest to be known and relied on his own otherworldly aura and upper-class attitude to exert pressure, his team was, indeed, achieving some fame around. Perhaps, when their journey was long ended, he and his youkai would ascend to the status of mythical heroes, their adventures told and retold by many and seriously believed by no one.

"I wasn't mocking anything," the soldier said with bad grace. "I was only—"

"You, all of you, are 'only' interfering in a critical matter you know nothing about," Sanzo interrupted. "I will _not _waste my time with you. Take me to Captain Wu Tai and let _him_ decide what is or is not important."

The soldier was clearly divided. Average height, average weight, average face, his weapon was undoubtedly the only detail that removed him from the rest of the herd—the pragmatic type who would not put himself in the way of powerful forces, whether they were superior officers, highly ranked monks, or the gods themselves. Sanzo waited patiently for him to make up his mind and when the man turned and shouted for a certain Eng Ho, Sanzo knew he had managed to overcome this particular obstacle.

"See if Captain Wu Tai can spare this monk a minute," the soldier barked to the pimpled teenager who answered his call. Surprised, Eng Ho bowed and indicated with a nervous gesture that Sanzo should follow him.

Together, they entered a courtyard where about a dozen dark-clad men sat on a circle of stone benches, talking and smoking. Their lazy chitchat dropped to a murmur and then spluttered away as all eyes found the newcomer. Acutely aware of their number and their weapons, Sanzo studied the massive three-story building behind and around them. It seemed empty, with most of the windows and doors closed or darkened, except for a section to the right. It was to that area that Eng Ho guided him, crossing directly through the circle of soldiers—and Sanzo had to make a conscious effort not to clench his fists under such silent scrutiny.

He sped up his pace, focused now solely on the well-lit entrance. Just a few steps…

"Captain Wu Tai's office is at the end of this corridor," Eng Ho said, his voice low and strained. "But first you'll have to talk to Lieutenant Fei Ru, the captain's secretary."

Sanzo tightened his lips. Almost, almost _there_. One step—one single short step…

"Hey, hey, hey, not so fast!" called someone from the benches.

Sanzo halted, biting back a curse. So much for achieving his objective without any more setbacks.

A tall, well-built man sauntered in their direction, right hand resting on the gun in his belt. "And where are you two going, may I ask?"

"This monk wants an audience with Captain Wu Tai, Zhou Jun-sama," Eng Ho explained nervously. "I was going—"

"Ah, does he?" Zhou Jun interrupted, his gaze trailing down Sanzo's body. "Did you search him for weapons, Private Eng?"

"Uh? Oh, not yet, sir. I—"

"Not yet?" Zhou Jun clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "When and where were you planning to do this? In the captain's office? Your stupidity will cost you your life one of these days, boy. Or, much worse, one of your officers' lives."

Eng Ho lowered his head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, sir. I should have…"

Sanzo decided to intervene. He did not have time to play insignificant power games with these men, so it was better to start and finish this inevitable clash as soon as possible. "I'm a servant of Buddha," he said, raising his chin. "I don't carry weapons."

Zhou Jun stared at him with greedy eyes. "Oh, is that so? But you see, Servant of Buddha, it's my duty to assure my captain's safety. So—" He advanced and took Sanzo by an elbow. "Hands on your head, monk, come on. And I don't want to hear another word from you."

Sanzo obeyed, fuming, and was escorted back to the circle of benches.

Once in the center, he was paraded around with affected slowness. He felt a knee nudging his legs apart and then intrusive hands groping through his clothes. Not interested in the contents of Sanzo's pockets, Zhou Jun lewdly lingered on the contours of muscles and bones as the members of their excited audience yelled instructions:

"Give his nipples a squeeze for me, Zhou Jun!"

"No, squeeze him down _there_!"

"Quite a piece of ass, eh, Zhou Jun? Turn him around again, man!"

"Well, Servant of Buddha," Zhou Jun purred in Sanzo's ear, "it seems you're clean, aside from some coins in your pockets. Didn't you renounce earthly things? Lucky me." He glued himself to Sanzo's back, rubbing his burgeoning erection against his prey's buttocks. "You're a beautiful jewel yourself, do you know this? I'm sure you do. Why don't you wait for me until my shift is over? I don't work tomorrow; we could go somewhere and have a little fun. I swear to Buddha that I'm clean, too."

Applause. Catcalls.

"Hey, Zhou Jun, he's too pretty for you!"

"Go fuck the youkai, Zhou Jun, you don't deserve anything better!"

Laughter.

It was not the humiliation or the tongue tracing his ear shell that made Sanzo shove Zhou Jun away with one shoulder, much to his molester's amusement. It was the comment about 'the youkai,' which to these people meant Gojyo and Gojyo alone. It was the not-so-hypothetical situation of having one of these filthy beasts touching Gojyo and making lustful comments about him. And the not-so-hypothetical welcoming reaction that the whore would have to their … treatment. Gojyo had put on such a show for his benefit last night that it was clear that he was not contrary to this kind of dirty exhibitionism.

Eng Ho broke into the circle, shaken. "Zhou Jun-sama, the monk doesn't have any weapons. Now I must take him inside. Corporal Ma's specific orders, sir."

Zhou Jun turned Sanzo around again, his grip tightening. "Corporal Ma is overzealous, boy. There's no need to rush. In fact, I think this monk should come with _me_. I have—"

"What's going on here?"

Sanzo was released immediately and watched with contempt as Zhou Jun bowed low to an older man standing nearby. "Ah, nothing at all, Lieutenant Yao. This monk wants to see the captain and I was searching him for weapons."

Yao acknowledged the explanation with a dissatisfied grunt. "And may I ask why that simple procedure would cause such noise? Is this a military area or a peddlers' fair?"

The soldiers exchanged looks and bowed while the lieutenant unhurriedly walked away. "Damn," one of them said, "now he's going to hover around, Zhou Jun. At least until the captain goes home."

Zhou Jun cursed, adjusted his pants, and turned to Eng Ho. "All right, Private," he ground out. "I hope I taught you the art of frisking pretty suspects?"

A new round of lecherous jokes, now sounding artificial. The former mood had been spoilt.

Eng Ho nodded.

"Good," Zhou Jun gloated, "because next time we have a cute monk here, _you_ will do the honors." He smirked at Sanzo. "Okay, you can go, hon. But the captain is busy at the moment. Why don't you sit here with us for a while? No?"

Frowning, Sanzo adjusted his robe. "Eng Ho-san," he rasped with as much dignity he could muster, "can you take me to the captain's secretary?"

"I can take you, if you wish," Zhou Jun drawled. "In the captain's office. On and under the captain's desk. All we'll have to do is to wait a little, hon."

More laughter. More lewd jokes. Barely containing his anger, Sanzo shielded his mind with what was his new personal mantra—_You do not have the right to commit any more mistakes from now on_—and strode to the building, Eng Ho at his heels.

"I'm sorry, monk," the boy whispered when they finally entered the bright corridor. He sounded confused and frightened. "Zhou Jun-sama and the others… I don't get why humiliating people we should protect is so funny."

Sanzo shrugged, rejecting the role of Wise Comforter that Eng Ho was trying to force upon him. If the boy could not tell the difference between right and wrong any longer … so what? Either he would start drawing his lines somewhere or he would become an expert in 'frisking' civilians for 'weapons.' In the end, the choice would be his.

Eng Ho halted at the second door to their left, raising expectant eyes to Sanzo.

"I only hope that you don't become one of the laughing men in the audience," Sanzo told him reluctantly. "That's all."

Disappointed, Eng Ho shook his head and knocked at the door. A gruff voice from inside ordered them to come in.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21 **

The metallic clang woke Gojyo with a start. Hakkai felt him grow rigid against his chest, intent on the noise of approaching footsteps, then there was panic—blind panic, as Gojyo began struggling to free himself from their embrace.

"Don't," Hakkai ordered, tightening his hold, though each jolt sent agonizing waves of pain through his head. "Gojyo… Wait, I can't… Let's just…" Gojyo intensified his thrashing and managed to stand. Hakkai seized him by his good wrist and pulled him back down none too gently. "Fuck, Gojyo, _stop_!"

Gojyo stilled and stared, shocked.

"I suppose the guy these humans were waiting for has arrived," Hakkai rasped, trying to sound composed. He squinted at Gojyo and attempted to smile. "Let's not give them any reason to overreact again, right?" _Please? _

Gojyo nodded and averted his attention to the bareness of the corridor outside their cell. "What about the guy _we _are waiting for?" he asked in a murmur. "Where is Sanzo?"

"I don't know." Hakkai reached out and skimmed his fingertips over Gojyo's dirty bandages. "Did I hurt you when I wrestled you down?"

"Uh? No, I'm—it's okay."

"I hope Sanzo is here," Hakkai mumbled, dropping his hand and sagging further against the wall. Gods, his head… He was going to throw up at any minute if it kept pounding like that. He had also vomited in the park, hadn't he? Either way, there was not much in his stomach right now.

"What about you?" Gojyo demanded. "Hakkai?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." The footsteps were drawing closer and Hakkai willed his eye to focus. The humans were bringing more light—the corridor was now considerably brighter—which helped his blurry vision. Was Sanzo among the ones who strode in their direction? Impossible to tell, at least for him. Goku was the one with the powerful youkai senses attuned to every infinitesimal detail that made and meant a certain priest. He… He could only hope.

He swallowed hard, frustrated, when five soldiers—old acquaintances from the earlier scene in the park—halted before their cell. No Sanzo.

"Aw, look at this!" taunted the sergeant who had conducted their arrest. "Aren't they cute, cuddled together like kittens in a basket? Damn, but you like to roll about in filth, eh, punk? How can you get so comfy with demons?"

Hakkai maintained his silence, knowing that any attempt at refuting those rhetorical questions would just cause Gojyo and himself more harm. He concentrated on calming his heart, instead. Anger was not, and never would be, conducive to well-fought battles.

"Yeah, don't goad Bully-san," Gojyo said in a barely audible whisper and Hakkai had to bite back a nervous chuckle. All things Gojyo were unusual like his exotic coloring.

The lack of answer disappointed Chen Dan. He pulled his gun out and advanced, towering over the prisoners. "What, no fancy words to explain your perversions to us, punk? Well, maybe you could show us how you fuck your pet demon up the ass. Or does _it _fuck you?"

At Hakkai's continued indifference, Chen Dan clashed the handle of his gun against the iron bars. The deafening noise reverberated through the ward, amplified in a thunderous wave, and the man winced, shocked. Only then did a still completely impassive Hakkai allow his lips to curve upwards in a flitting spasm. Enough to reassure Gojyo and share the joke with him. Enough for it to be perceived by 'Bully-san' as the slap in the face it was intended to be.

"Sergeant, you okay?" one of Chen Dan's men asked in the following silence.

"Shut up, Mou!" Chen Dan shouted, face contorted in fury. The outburst created another chain of booming echoes, and Hakkai could sense Gojyo's anxious amusement bubbling. Hakkai cautioned him with a brief touch, hoping Gojyo would act on his own advice about not goading the human. Chen Dan positioned his gun between the bars and aimed at Hakkai's head. "You think that you're so smart, don't you, punk?" he hissed. "Well, guess what? I have the power, right here in my finger, right here, punk, in one single finger, to destroy that precious brain of yours. If I press this trigger, punk, I will make you a corpse or an idiot for life."

Hakkai peered up, unafraid.

"Sergeant?" came Mou's frightened voice again. "The captain is waiting for the foreigner in his office." A pause. "This scumbag isn't worth your career, Chen Dan-sama." Hakkai looked past Chen Dan at the soldier—who immediately lowered his head, avoiding eye contact.

"I know, Mou," Chen Dan muttered. "I fucking _know_." And slowly, as if still hesitant about shooting or not, he holstered his gun. Hakkai noticed the relief on his face, though—the timely intervention had offered Chen Dan a gracious way of backing down from his threat without losing face. "And if you don't shut your mouth I swear that I'll throw you in this cell with the demon," he remarked in a calmer tone. "It's very friendly to people, as you can see." A volley of laughter went round and Chen Dan nodded to his audience before focusing on Hakkai once more. "Up, punk. The chief wants to see you. Say good-bye to your lover."

"What about Gojyo?" Hakkai asked tentatively. "We're together—"

"If you," Chen Dan interrupted, "make me enter this pigpen to drag your ass out myself, punk, you'll regret giving me trouble. As for your lover, it stays exactly where it is. Or it'll be put down on the spot." Chen Dan clicked his fingers and his men took stance, weapons trained on Gojyo.

Seeing no other alternative, Hakkai started the difficult task of commanding his body to stand. Should he meekly go along or was this the moment to attack? If Sanzo were upstairs, negotiating their freedom, he would ruin whatever ground had already been gained. But yet… What if Sanzo had not come? He and Gojyo could defeat five humans, of course they could; five humans were virtually nothing, even armed…

Pain exploded in his head when he locked his wobbly knees under his weight.

"Hakkai?"

Gojyo.

And Gojyo could not move, otherwise…

For Gojyo, Hakkai compelled his unsteady legs on, all his physical responses now needing conscious control. Right foot. Left. Right. Never, ever had such a ridiculously small distance seemed so impossible to cover. Cold sweat ran down his face as blood pounded in his ears, hammering needles inside his skull.

One more step, for Gojyo, just one more step… His vision darkened and he toppled forward, breaking his fall by instinctively grabbing the bars.

"Hakkai!"

"Stay … stay where you are," he slurred. "I—I'm fine."

"Yeah, stay, dog," someone mocked. "And stop barking."

"Hurry up, punk, we haven't had dinner yet," Chen Dan said, obviously enjoying himself.

Hakkai stared up at Chen Dan's mouth and tasted bile. The strange acoustics of the place amplified and overlapped Gojyo's frantic murmurs and the humans' scornful orders alike, sent them back and forth, wrapping the scene in a cacophony of a nightmarish quality—but then there was that mouth. Chen Dan's smiling mouth was the element that kept unconsciousness at bay and hoisted Hakkai up.

"…very good, punk, come on, you can make it!"

He wanted to shut up that mouth with a punch.

He was going to shut up that mouth with a punch.

He was still fighting to regain his balance when Chen Dan opened the cell door, jerking his support away, and seized him by one arm. Hakkai was then thrown against the wall of the corridor.

Pain. There was nothing else but pain. Pain and…

"…bastards! You fucking cowards! I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, you assholes!"

…Gojyo.

"Shut up, demon! Or I'll—"

"Let the thing be, Hu," Chen Dan purred. "It's already dead." Hakkai let gurgled when a hand grabbed his hair and pulled his lolling head up. "Now… You, punk? You'll behave. And you'll be _quiet_. I don't want to hear your slimy rattle anymore. Understood?" Hakkai tried to nod. Chen Dan grunted in satisfaction. "Shit, you're all sticky, punk. I never liked slugs." There were other petty references and half-elaborated jokes. There was laughter. Hakkai paid them no heed—the small part of his mind that still rationalized things just kept asking how could he have considered fighting when he was not even able to turn his head to reassure Gojyo.

Vaguely, he felt his wrists being secured on his back.

"Okay, punk, let's go," Chen Dan growled. "Fuck, Mou, help him!" And their little group was moving.

Gojyo's forlorn howl enveloped them in the corridor, cascading into every cell of the subterraneous maze. It seemed to go on forever.

Hakkai scrunched his eyes shut, equally desperate.

"How touching!" Chen Dan chortled. "The thing is already missing its bitch."

More lewd comments.

More laughter.

They were always laughing, these humans.

"Damn, Sergeant, I'm starving. How long do you think the captain will keep us here?"

"Why don't you ask him, Hu? I'm not a diviner. Shit, punk, I should go back and shut up that demon of yours with a bullet. Noisy motherfucker!"

Hakkai did not reply. He hung from his captors' clutches, despising his failing body as much as he despised these humans. Sanzo should be here already. It would be better if Sanzo was here already. If Sanzo was willingly letting them fend for themselves in this prison, to teach them both a lesson on caution, or because of his personal feud with Gojyo, Hakkai would kill the monk bastard himself, holy mission or not.

They mounted a narrow staircase at a leisurely pace, the soldiers now talking congenially over Hakkai's throbbing head—regular workingmen counting the minutes until their day off.

"My wife took the kids to see the floats yesterday, Hu. Not as impressive as the ones from last year, they said."

"Yeah, but those things only look pretty at night, with their lanterns lit. They're ugly in the sun."

"Is it true that Lao Lin is going to perform for free? Has anybody else heard that?"

Hakkai was hit by a blast of fresh air when they reached the area dedicated to the bureaucratic procedures that inescapably ruled such a place. His stomach churning, he noticed that one of the passages did not end with another sterile wall—beyond it there was just clear, glorious summer night.

"It seems so," Chen Dan concurred. "She has a lot of money already, _ne_? She might well afford some charity from time to time."

"Buddha, what I wouldn't give to have an hour with that woman!"

"In your case, it would only last five minutes, Mou." Chen Dan hurried forward, opened the door to a large room without knocking, and pushed Hakkai into it. "The prisoner, Captain," he announced in a respectful voice.

The older man who pored over some papers at a barred window barely looked up. "Yes. You and your men are dismissed, Sergeant."

'Bully-san' acknowledged the words with a short bow and signaled his group back to the corridor. Deprived of any physical support, Hakkai staggered, keeping vertical only by sheer willpower. Indifferent to his plight, the captain shuffled through his papers, pulled a sheet out, and carried on reading.

As soon as he managed to regain some semblance of control over his watery legs, Hakkai began mapping his surroundings. No Sanzo. No other doors. Stone floor. A desk. A few chairs. The whitewashed walls were naked, except for functional lanterns and a sword displayed on a shelf. He squinted at the human, who wore nothing that could be related to a firearm.

Interesting.

Finally, the captain went to his table, took a seat behind it and started sorting out his papers. Only when he had them arranged in two neat piles did he acknowledge Hakkai's presence. "I'm Captain Wu Tai," he said calmly. "I was informed that your name is Cho Hakkai. Is that correct?"

Hakkai bowed clumsily, trying to make the room stop spinning. "That's correct, Captain."

"Very well. Please, take a seat, Cho Hakkai."

Mustering a last bout of energy, Hakkai shuffled to the nearest chair and dropped into it with a sigh. His head throbbed unbearably and the tight rope 'Bully-san' had fasted his hands with was cutting his wrists—but why worry about such insignificant details when the window let in a fresh, caressing breeze that stirred his hair? So good… For a split second, he wished he could go to sleep. "Captain Wu Tai?" he croaked tiredly. "May I ask about my friend, sir? The one who was arrested with me?"

"No, you can't ask anything here, Cho Hakkai. In this room, your only task is to answer questions and answer them truthfully. I assure you that I have ways of knowing if you're lying." Wu Tai drummed his fingers on the pile of papers at his right. "Let me tell you what we already know about your group, so you won't be tempted to weave fancy tales. Three men and a youkai male entered our town this evening, riding a dragon that can change into a vehicle. One of the humans is a monk; the second, a teenage boy. The third is you. We received several complaints about this … youkai invasion. Your group headed to an inn, badly frightening the customers." Wu Tai frowned and consulted his papers again. "Actually, your group split up and you and the two youkai entered the inn a few minutes later, after the monk secured rooms for you all. The dragon isn't important, though. Are my reports accurate so far, Cho Hakkai?"

"Yes, sir," Hakkai answered, stunned.

"Good. We're very proud of our efficiency. But allow me to continue, eh? Lieutenant Yao dispatched a party to capture the demon. On his way to the inn, Sergeant Chen Dan and his men met a messenger sent by the inn's manager, asking for help. Then, you and the youkai were found together in a park and resisted arrest." Wu Tai lifted an eyebrow at Hakkai, perhaps expecting a contest on this last part. When none was offered, he proceeded, "Your two human friends, I was notified, have left the inn. I gave orders to let them go and wait to see what they're up to. Such a confusion on the eve of our most important holiday is certainly demoralizing to our force, Cho Hakkai-san."

Hakkai took a deep breath, conjuring up all his mediator's skills; pain and exhaustion, if not entirely submerged, would have to be ignored. Each word would count now, as well as each facial expression—he had to do his best. For Gojyo. And the truth was his ally…

The truth, with a slight twist.

And his _chi_.

He focused it on the captain, despair lending him a strength he would not be fit to summon otherwise, and projected forth subtle reassurances, along with an order: _You will believe me._ This particular trick would not do his cause any good if the subject was not amenable to the suggestion to begin with—in fact, he did not know if it would have any real effect at all. The few times that he had resorted to such precarious artifice and things had swayed his way, he had not been able to attest if his own wishing had influenced the final result. He had tried to experiment with this possible resource on his friends just once, without success. Goku had ended up snoring, Gojyo had stared amusedly at him from behind a cloud of cigarette smoke, and Sanzo… After fifteen minutes, it had been _Hakkai_ who had been able to pick up Sanzo's thoughts—_Piss off—_ without having to make use of his youkai powers, imaginary or not.

"Captain, I assure you that we did not have any intention of demoralizing anyone," he started in a coarse voice. "We are travelers, sir, nothing more. The monk is on an important holy quest, and we are his servants. Bodyguards, when necessary, for these are very dangerous times for a priest to roam alone. Gojyo, the half-youkai you arrested, is very important to our mission. We wouldn't have come so far if not for his help." _You will believe me. _

"Half-youkai?" Wu Tai asked, interested.

"Yes, sir." Knowing that racist societies tended to be very protective of their women, but were much more lenient if their own males made raids among the ones considered inferior, Hakkai quickly changed Gojyo's genealogy. "His father was human."

The captain grunted. "I read something somewhere about half-breeds having red hair," he commented. "It fits in with the description that I have of your youkai friend in my report. We don't have that kind of creature here, of course."

"We were on the main road," Hakkai went on, feeling more confident, "but it was growing dark. We saw your town, and we thought that it would be a good idea to have a bath and spend the night in a real bed." _And this is the unadulterated truth, so you will believe me! _

"Why that inn?" Wu Tai demanded. "Why did you choose that specific inn?"

"We didn't, Captain. It was fortuitous. Gojyo and I fell a little behind because Gojyo suffered a serious injury a week ago, while protecting the monk from certain death. He isn't well yet, and that's why I'm begging you, humbly, to bring him to this office, sir." _You will bring Gojyo here! _

Wu Tai played with his papers, neither agreeing nor saying no, which was already a huge step ahead.

"But about the inn," Hakkai felt an annoying prick on his cheek and quickly lifted his left shoulder to wipe his face on his jacket. "At one point, the boy who travels with us came back to tell us that they knew where to find rooms. I can only guess that the monk asked someone on the street, and was directed to that park."

"Did that person on the street see your youkai?" Wu Tai asked.

"I don't think so, sir. We were having problems keeping up with the monk. Only at the inn did we find out that youkai are not welcome in this town. We decided to leave, to go back to the main road, but we had to wait for our companions, so we went to the park. Was this the infraction that sent us to prison?" _And doesn't it sound laughable? Absolutely ridiculous? To arrest two men because they sat on a public bench in a public area? Of course it does. Of course it is! _

Wu Tai consulted his papers again. "Well, at least your story matches the information we've gathered," he said distractedly. "I know our laws may sound … laughable, even … uh, ridiculous, sometimes. But they have kept us alive."

Hakkai gasped. Was it working? Was it really working? Collecting himself quickly, he observed, "Yes, sir, but how could we know about them? We—"

"Do you have any other sight problem besides the obvious discomfort of your head wound, Cho Hakkai-san?" Wu Tai interrupted.

Hakkai blinked, surprised. He was so intent on the human in front of him that he had barely noticed the continuous tearing of his single eye. "I—I'm… My eye…" he trailed off, lost. He was not going to admit that he wore a glass eye, would he? Bone tired and in pain as he was, there were limits one could let slip during a friendly conversation with an enemy. "I—I miss my monocle, sir, that's all."

"Monocle?"

"Sergeant Chen Dan took it from me," Hakkai muttered, embarrassed. "In the park."

Wu Tai tightened his lips, stood up, and went to the door, calling for 'Bully-san.' When the man appeared, they started a hushed conversation in the corridor, the captain's hard pitch a clear contrast to Chen Dan's deferential mumbles. Hakkai sat frozen, not really caring if that useless bauble would be returned to him or not. He should have not diverted the talk to himself; he _should have_ kept it focused on Gojyo.

When Wu Tai returned he had the monocle in hands. "Here, Cho Hakkai-san. My apologies." And the captain himself put the dirty lens back on Hakkai's nose, since it would have been impossible for him to do so.

Hakkai leaned slightly forward in his chair, trying to emulate a bow. "Thank you kindly, sir."

Wu Tai sat at his desk again, face grim. "To deal with some of the men I have around on a daily basis… It's enough to make even Buddha a killer." He frowned at his papers. "Fortunately, I'm retiring soon. Very, very soon."

"It's hard to find men who understand honor, Captain," Hakkai answered softly. _Now, you? You do understand it. That's why you won't bother yourself with innocent travelers. You have in a cell only a mere half-youkai, and tomorrow is the Summer Festival. Why raise such a fuss over nothing? Send for Gojyo! _"Captain, we aren't here to cause you any trouble," he said aloud. "Everything was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time." _You will believe me. You. Will. Believe. Me. You— _

"I believe you, Cho Hakkai-san," Wu Tai stated with conviction. "Yes, I believe you. Everything was just a misunderstanding. Please, don't think that everybody on the force is like Sergeant Chen Dan. He's only a garbage collector. Sometimes he brings me valuable things, though; things that don't belong in this place."

Hakkai bowed once more, so grateful that he felt like dropping to his knees. "Again, thank you very much, Wu Tai-sama."

A loud crash sounded in the corridor, then a demanding voice. And when a familiar slim figure stormed into the office, Hakkai could have jumped in the air, could have laughed and sung and invited Wu Tai to join him. Instead, he calmly met the baffled captain's eyes and said in his most polite tone, "Captain Wu Tai, may I introduce to you the monk I was telling you about? Sir, this is Genjo Sanzo-sama."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22 **

Most of his comrades had already gone home, but Zhou Jun lingered in the courtyard, the last occupant of the circle of stone benches; day off forgotten, family disregarded as the nuisance it was, his thoughts kept revolving around the stunning monk he had touched so intimately. Such a pretty, pretty boy!

Damn, this was not a simple Buddhist beggar they had here—the foreigner had a fighter's muscles under his robe, and a fighter's fire under his passionless mask. Zhou Jun had skimmed his fingers over that barely suppressed tension, hungrily feeding on it, reveling on the potentially lethal energy mounting. He had expected a punch in the face at any given moment; had wondered if he would be able to deflect the attack when it came. It had been like caressing a tiger. And then there were also those strange-colored eyes, full of disdain… Zhou Jun groaned softly. Shit, he should have dragged his prize to one of the many empty rooms they had at their disposal tonight. It would have been quicker. It would have been easier. None of his comrades would have interfered.

He rubbed his crotch, intent on the lit entrance where the monk had disappeared almost an hour ago. So he noticed immediately when Sergeant Chen Dan stormed out of the building.

"Hey! Chen Dan-sama!" he called, hoping that the man would have some answers about what was going on inside. "Over here!"

An angry Chen Dan strode to him.

"What happened, sir?" Zhou Jun shifted on his bench, making room for the other. "Did the captain find out about that youkai family you captured on the main road?"

Chen Dan ignored the invitation to sit, but apparently was too incensed to let pass an opportunity to vent his fury. "No. I'm just pissed with the way Wu Tai is dealing with that son of a bitch I arrested this evening. The one with the demon in tow."

"Ah," Zhou Jun sucked on his teeth. "Did you see the monk they travel with?"

"No, not really," Chen Dan mumbled with indifference. "But someone is throwing a tantrum in Lieutenant Fei Ru's office, demanding to see Wu Tai. Someone with a snobby accent."

"Yes. Yes, that's _him_."

"Why are you so interested in—" Chen Dan froze when Zhou Jun lewdly displayed his tented pants. "Fuck."

"Well," Zhou Jun laughed, "yeah."

Chen Dan averted his eyes, disgusted. "I don't understand you, Corporal. I don't understand you at all. What about your wife?"

"She understands me," Zhou Jun drawled. "After ten years, Ruirui gave up trying to change my crazy ways, Chen Dan-sama."

"It's sick," Chen Dan spat. "And as a member of the force, you should be the first to keep foreigners—" he broke off at the noise of a door being slammed. Then, someone's indistinct words carried out, unmistakably arguing.

Zhou Jun straightened his back, attentive once more to the lit entrance; only to sag again in on himself, disappointed, when the noise died away. "Damn, where _is _that monk?" he muttered sullenly.

"Pushing his way into Wu Tai's office, where else?" Chen Dan replied, grimacing. "It seems the lieutenant wasn't able to keep him out. That's what happens when you treat punks well. Even monks lose respect and start tramping all over the place."

"Shit, Sergeant, Eng Ho was with them, that useless moron! I'll go—"

Chen Dan pressed Zhou Jun back onto the bench. "Let it be, Corporal. Our nice captain is going to free them all, anyway. Buddha, maybe he'll invite them to his own house for the holiday or, who knows, it's possible that he'll order us to escort the whole bunch out of town, in case someone decides to take offense with that youkai of theirs and attack the thing."

"What do you mean? The captain also has his orders; he can't—"

"Oh, can't he?" Chen Dan mocked. "I bet he's going to tamper with his reports. It won't be the first time, _ne_? Tomorrow morning will be like … no invaded inn, no wandering priest demanding that his man-eater demon be set free." A pause, and he added derisively, "Pity, but it seems you'll have to find another hole to stick your cock in."

"Sergeant, I—it was only a joke, sir," Zhou Jun stammered. "I hope I didn't offend you—"

"Yeah, whatever. While you're here making jokes, the punk I arrested is _there_, talking. And he's all manners and fancy words, Corporal, he knows how to talk. He could sell water to the god of the sea, I tell you! Wu Tai is going to be putty in his hands. So laugh as much as you want." Chen Dan stopped, trying to get his breathing under control. "Guess _who _will laugh last? The punk. The monk. _And_ their demon."

"Our captain—"

"Our captain doesn't give a damn about us, Zhou Jun!" Chen Dan interrupted again, waving his hand in the air. "Give him the chance, and he'll demoralize us in front of anyone who cares to witness the scene. Tomorrow morning, that fucker I arrested—risking my life in the process, I may add—will stagger away, youkai by his side, and with that worthless piece of glass perched on his snub nose. What can one say in such a moment? My men will know that Wu Tai cheapened my decisions and my work."

"Uh, I know it's not up to us to question, but—"

"I almost, almost put a bullet in that youkai lover's head, monocle and all!" Chen Dan reached down and caressed his holstered gun. "And we should have dispatched that demon to the Anthill, Corporal. You wouldn't believe the nerve of it, sitting in the park as if it owned the place, as if it were a real man! But no, Wu Tai wanted the beast here! I tell you, it's been hellish to do the job well with that soft-hearted idiot hovering all the time."

Zhou Jun did not answer this time, surprised by the sergeant's disposition to rant against their captain so freely.

"I'm worried, Corporal," Chen Dan went on. "I'm very, very worried. People are going to lose their lives to that youkai when it walks out of here, ready to start devouring women and children again. But does our captain care? Of course not!"

Zhou Jun did not care, either. Youkai, in their vast majority, were pitiful creatures easily frightened and easily killed—especially now that the force had modern guns. In his opinion, the Youkai Threat was an exaggeration; maybe a mere retelling of something that could have been true in the past, but which had lost its sharp edge ages ago. As a kind, they were doomed—humans were far too greedy to share anything with them, and far too ingenious when making their weapons. Their supposed taste for human flesh was a new trend and had set on fire the imagination of fanatics like Chen Dan, but, so far, there had not been a single case confirmed in the area, only a constant repetition of rumors heard from people who visited the town. Zhou Jun even felt sorry for the things… He only hunted them down because he was paid for it. It was nothing personal.

So, no, he did not care about this 'punk' and his youkai.

He scratched his thighs, impatient to give himself some relief. Chen Dan was still talking—well on his way to the full stage of raving. The man appeared to be drunk, or high, and Zhou Jun had to press his lips together to keep his amusement under control. Who would guess that the feared Chen Dan-sama indulged on holidays like the rest of them?

"What's the matter with our captain, hmm?" Chen Dan demanded, eyes darting everywhere, fingers still touching his gun. "He thinks he's too good for the force; he thinks he's too good for his own men! But right now he's in there, bowing to a youkai lover! Answer me, Corporal, what is the matter with him?"

Zhou Jun shrugged. He had only a vague idea about Wu Tai's motives, and was not interested in fathoming them. As for _his_ own wishes…

He wanted the monk.

And a raise in his pay to buy a house for accommodating Ruirui and their kids. It was past time his family had a house of their own. He _was_ a good soldier, despite what some of his comrades might think; a good soldier, well deserving a promotion. He had almost received it a while ago; but then Chen Dan had jumped the queue aided by Lieutenant Yao. And, to add insult to injury, Chen Dan had bought a house afterwards and had bragged loudly about _that_.

Holding his breath, Zhou Jun looked up, studying the man in front of him.

No, not drunk. Zhou Jun had seen the sergeant in a similar state only once before. The previous year. And, as a consequence, two human boys had been killed by 'mistake' that time. Chen Dan never overreacted when dealing with youkai—those were far, far below him to stir more than contempt. But he did commit foolish, harsh blunders when another man defied the authority he donned with his uniform, even if unintentionally. As the prisoner—the 'punk'—had undoubtedly done.

Good Gods Above and Below! This could be a chance of a lifetime!

Chen Dan's career would not survive another open defiance against his superior officers, right friend in the right place or not. Besides… If the youkai were gone, the monk would have to roam to and fro after papers and favors. Roam this very area—Zhou Jun's territory. Captain Wu Tai had no authority over the Anthill, and the Colonel… The Colonel was a case apart. No avuncular little taps on prisoners' heads or backs, no tender feelings towards anyone. No mercy. And, of course, he, Zhou Jun, would be following the monk's every step. Would be watching him fight the worst of all foes one could face in such circumstances: their purposely-slow bureaucracy. Not that the pretty one would have any real chance of saving his demon. It was always entertaining, and it kept the force's bets going on, to watch foreigners wandering their corridors like rats in a maze. And desperate men were prone to desperate acts. Zhou Jun had already been offered sexual favors in exchange for a few worthless pieces of papers. And the whining, weeping, frantic young men he had had on these occasions were nothing compared to this monk.

Clapping his hands together, he thanked whatever forces had converged to give him such an unexpected stroke of good fortune. Years of licking boots and eating crumbs … then, suddenly, everything he could ever wish for was being handed to him on a silver platter.

If he were smart. Which he was.

If he knew the right words to drip into the right ears. Which he did.

"But it isn't too late, is it, Sergeant?" he asked slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why don't we take that youkai to the place where it belongs, Chen Dan-sama? We would be saving innocent lives, wouldn't we? Wu Tai may splutter a little, but why should he care? It's only a youkai." Now, the final bait. The irresistible one. "And the punk … can you imagine his face? Can you imagine how he is going to beg for help, and make a pathetic ass of himself when he realizes that his demon is gone?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23 **

Goku crossed the little wooden bridge and stopped for a moment, pretending interest in the view below. Nothing much to see, only rooftops. He put the bags on the ground and made a show of popping his back and stretching his arms. Perched on his left shoulder, Hakuryu croaked dejectedly.

"All right," Goku murmured. "They're still there. So let's continue."

The humans in dark uniforms who followed him now were not the same who had started this chase. Since parting ways with Sanzo, Goku had been wandering aimlessly, senses in overdrive, trying to get rid of his shadows lest he led them to the place where Sanzo had told him to wait. He had believed that he had managed to lose the first soldiers a while back—only to discover another pair trailing him down from afar. Then, the second pair of soldiers had simply turned around and walked away. And soon enough there was a third party keeping track with him. Half-formed thoughts of tactics—of soldiers working only within designated zones—rendered him ridiculously frightened. The humans knew this maze well. As for him…

The more he walked the more claustrophobic and threatening the scenery became.

Had the Sanzo-ikkou been monitored from their very first step into this damned town? Was it possible? Were they truly so tired and fed up with each other that they had not paid any attention to such a crucial issue?

And what about Sanzo? Surely Sanzo was being followed, too. And if something happened to Sanzo…

He started when Hakuryu chirped in his ear. "Time to move?" he asked the dragon. "But… Go where? I think—I think we're kind of lost."

Another chirp. Louder. Impatient.

"All right, then," Goku said tonelessly. "Let's go." He picked up the bags and resumed walking, just going along with the flow of people. That was how he ended up in a plaza where a large audience had gathered to watch the performance of musicians and singers. On a stage installed on the flatbed of a wagon, a red-eyed, red-haired, crudely made puppet jumped and danced, menacing a well-finished female doll with its sharp fangs. Goku widened his eyes, suddenly fascinated; and when a song began, the mouth of the swirling little monster was opened and closed, as if the lines belonged to it:

_"I kill and I maim _

_And I laugh at your pain. _

_I like to hurt, _

_You know I'm dirt. _

_So what am I?" _

It was the audience who yelled the answer: "Youkai!"

Hakuryu fluttered nervously and let out a low whistle. Goku glanced at him, then shifted his attention to the crowd, gaping when he saw no sign of dark uniforms nearby. Had he managed to lose the soldiers for good?

_"I rape and I fight _

_And I laugh at your plight. _

_I want my fun, _

_You know I'm scum. _

_So what am I?" _

Saturated with dark energy, the answer in unison reverberated powerfully: "Youkai!"

On the stage, a wooden phallus painted red was introduced from under the fabric that covered the body of the 'youkai,' in a parody of a giant erection.

_"I fuck and I fuck _

_And I laugh at your luck. _

_I eat your breath, _

_You know I'm Death. _

_So what am I?" _

The roar of "Youkai!" was very impressive, even when a new display of fireworks lit the night sky.

Goku stood frozen, staring at that waving, taunting, barbarous red thing, while the humans around him, adults and children alike, laughed, cheered, and hurled curses at the puppet.

Someone bumped against him, and he tried to step aside, almost toppling over. The stranger took him by one arm, straightening him up, then quickly inserted a cold object under his jacket.

"Quiet," growled a boyish voice. "I have a gun here. No sudden moves, otherwise I'll put a bullet in your spine."

Surprised, Goku looked down at the hand on his arm—too strong to be human—as Hakuryu shrieked, attracting several eyes. A stocky middle-aged man in front of them whirled around, scowling. "Hey, kids! Control your fucking dragon! I didn't come here to listen to a youkai screaming its lungs out." And he let go of a girl's waist, ready to attack.

"We apologize, sir!" the stranger with the gun replied cheerfully. "Our pet is nervous because of the noise. Sorry!"

Grunting, the man turned his back to them; the girl, finding their interaction more entertaining than the puppets, kept looking and giggling.

With a brusque poke, Goku was ordered to move. He complied, more curious than worried about his newest predicament. They bumped into a group that was trying to get closer to the puppets, and the stranger, tightening his hold on Goku, began laughing and joking, doing his best to divert the angry glances prompted by Hakuryu's screams. For all practical purposes, they were just a pair of drunken friends having fun together.

"Tell it to stop making that noise right now," the stranger finally panted, sounding desperate. "Or I'm going to shoot it. I'm serious."

Goku rolled his eyes and reached up for Hakuryu. "Okay, that's enough, Hak—"

Hakuryu interrupted him with a long, angry screech, then took flight.

"_Hakuryu_!"

Goku tried to go after him, but was yanked back. "Don't," the stranger warned. "Let it go."

"What the fuck? Who—"

"Questions later. Move!"

Goku turned, disregarding the order. "I can't leave my—"

"I said _move_!"

"And _I_ said I won't…" Goku broke off when the crowd around them burst into frenzied applause. Little wooden men had come onto the stage, 'beating' and 'shooting' the 'youkai.' It ended up being dismembered; claws, fangs, the red hair, all were ripped apart and thrown at the ecstatic audience. The female puppet took the center of the stage, surrounded by her saviors who sang their own version of the tune:

_"We hunt and arrest _

_They won't have rest. _

_We put them in chains _

_And shoot out their brains." _

Goku gasped, still craning his head in search of Hakuryu. "But what—"

"Welcome to hell, Son Goku," came his new companion's answer.

The red phallus was the only vestige left of the 'youkai' on the stage, making the crowd roar with laughter. It whirled over itself and dropped 'dead.' But not before uttering some last words:

_"Do you—do you know what—what was I?" _

"Youkai!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24 **

"Fuck."

Gojyo gave up pacing the cell and dropped onto the stone floor. It could not have been more than an hour since the soldiers had taken Hakkai, but concern, pain, and exhaustion made the wait seem much longer. And now, on top of everything else, his bladder was starting to demand attention—an expected consequence of being kicked in his kidneys during his arrest and of having his bodily functions artificially accelerated by Hakkai's _chi_.

"Fuck."

Where was that poor excuse for a priest?

He tried to ignore the chanting voice that whispered in the back of his mind that Sanzo _had _come, of course he had, but only for Hakkai. That Sanzo would resume his journey with the others, abandoning him to rot in this place. That hours would become days, and days would become weeks—then months, then years and years and years. As it had happened to Goku.

"Fuck."

Intellectually, he knew that such an idea was preposterous. Absurd. Impossible. To begin with, Hakkai would never agree to that. Neither would Goku. Shit, neither would _Sanzo_. The monk might want to torture and kill him with his own bare hands, yes, might want to throw him out of the Sanzo-ikkou for good, but would not just turn his back on him.

Would he?

The memory of Sanzo's expression in that thatched house was enough to make Gojyo shiver, despite the stifling heat. No, the previous night had not been one of his brightest moments.

"Fuck."

He drew his knees to his chest, curling up tightly against the wall.

Oh gods.

Sanzo.

Out of reach now. Forever hovering on that high, shining level of his—the one that low half-demons could only dream of sharing. For a while, Gojyo had dared to hope; for a while, he had really believed that he would be able to crawl up from his own darkness. There had been a hint of promise in Sanzo's eyes, a promise of dawn. Enough to make Gojyo open wide all the doors and windows of his soul to let Sanzo in.

And in Sanzo had come.

Not as the expected vernal sun, though; Sanzo's fierce, consuming blaze was leaving nothing but charred remains in his wake. Gojyo had borne the blast with a wicked kind of joy, desperately welcoming it, reveling in the agony of the conflagration. Like the trees from the landscape they had crossed earlier, he also raised blackened limbs to Sanzo's light. Begging for mercy. Begging for more. Needing it so much, even when he knew it was killing him.

A moth in love with a flame.

Now even _that _was gone. His stupidity had ruined everything. Sanzo might still be willing to let Gojyo follow him on his quest, but things had once more changed between them.

The cold night had fallen again.

And Gojyo had wasted his chance.

Now he would have to pick up his pieces, save whatever could still be repaired, and creep back to his familiar muddy depths. _There_ he would be safe—a sad demon perpetually looking up, pining for a morning that would never break. Perhaps one day, if he were lucky, Sanzo would glance down at him without aversion. Perhaps one day Sanzo would consider and call him a friend. But love? Preposterous. Absurd. Impossible.

So, the faster he buried his feelings, the better. Bury them alive, as humans were prone to do with youkai, to test their endurance and prolong their suffering. Bury them alive like Goku had been buried alive.

Like he was now buried in this hole.

Like Zenko had been buried in his body last night.

He scrunched his eyes shut, defeated. He was still sore from Zenko's careless handling; the bastard had penetrated him without finesse, giving him no time to adjust. Gojyo had tried to ask for patience—had demanded it, cursing and clawing. Only to have Zenko increase his pace.

"Stop that, bitch," Zenko had warned, laughing in Gojyo's ear, pinning him further to the bed. "You want my cock, you know you want it."

He did. It had been a while, and there was all that Sanzo-related frustration to deal with. Besides, he was angry, he was really pissed, and he had no other way to get back at Sanzo except by being the exact thing Sanzo hated the most:

_Whore. _

"I told you that you liked it like this, bitch!" Zenko's sweat dripped onto his face, and Gojyo raised his head to lick at the unshaved jaw, inhaling deeply. He hated and loved the sour taste. He loved and hated the hardness that opened and stretched his body to the point of tearing it. At that moment, when pain and pleasure mixed together and had no definite boundaries, he could lose himself and finally become…

(_nothing_)

_Whore._

So, yes, he had accepted that, had needed it, had wanted… Sanzo, only Sanzo. Sanzo doing him roughly, without finesse… Sanzo being his cruel bastard self. Sanzo, his fantasy lover.

Had he called the name aloud? For when he turned his head, Sanzo's eyes bored into his from across the room. They stared at each other as Zenko laughed and slowed his pace, putting on a show. Gojyo had tried to fight off his climax, teetering on the edge of the beckoning abyss. But then there had been those eyes on him, Sanzo's eyes, Sanzo with him, at last… And he had exploded with a desperate keening, aware that he had gotten what he wanted the most at the exact moment that he lost it forever.

Sanzo was gone when he could think again; he had then only Zenko, still using him and smirking derisively. Only Zenko, buried in him and burying him under a mass of stinking flesh…

"Sanzo, please," he wheezed, labored gasps hungrily absorbed and amplified by the empty corridors to the point where the whole prison also seemed to be panting for the stale air. "I'm so sorry for last night! I was angry, so very angry with you, and I didn't think. Please, understand that I was angry and wanted to get back at you, but not like that, never using…"

Pain.

Pain was calling him from the blurring edges of his panic, and he stilled, confused, cradling his swollen left wrist. Why had he been hammering it on the stone floor?

_Because you're going crazy, that's why. _

There was no self-mocking indulgence in the evaluation. Just plain, brutal accuracy, and Gojyo stared blankly at his broken nails, unable to process his conflicting thoughts or deal with the deep fear that made his stomach churn. He could not rationalize his acts, at least not _here_, and not in such circumstances. All he knew was that he _must _avoid trudging near his treacherous inner chasms. Sanzo would come; Sanzo would rescue him from this pit, as he had rescued Goku from his cave, and everything would be fine. He was only frightened and tired and so, so thirsty...

Fuck, he hated deserts.

He chewed at his cracked lower lip and the abused skin split, causing him to swallow convulsively.

Blood.

Just a taste.

And blood quenched thirst, didn't it? Maybe he should sink his teeth into his own wrist, tear through the bandages, tear through his own flesh, right where there was that pulsing vein, right where the pain flared. And let blood flow, like clear, cleansing, crystalline fresh water…

The clang of a slamming door and rushed steps coming his way made him sit up very straight.

He recognized three out of the four soldiers who soon stopped at some distance of his cell. Here they were again: the fat coward who had kicked him in the park and the little shit with the mustache who had shot Hakkai. Last but not least, the man who had missed the gods' call to be on a stage performing comedies. The one and only Bully-san. Fuck, but he would love to press his thumbs into this guy's beady eyes and see them pop up under his nails like ripe cherries…

The fourth was a tall, handsome man in his thirties who approached the cell and crouched down, peering at Gojyo as one does when appreciating a rare bird in a cage.

"Well, well, well," the tall man crooned. "Now I know for sure that he will do anything to have you back. Look at you!"

Surprised by being addressed in a polite tone, Gojyo blinked owlishly at the soldier.

'Bully-san' took a step forward. "What are you doing, Zhou Jun?"

"Nothing, Chen Dan-sama," the tall man murmured, "just admiring the beautiful view." He smiled at Gojyo. "What's your name, my boy?"

"Gojyo." Then, remembering that he hated to be patronized, Gojyo added with a sneer, "My boy."

The tall man's smile grew larger. "Gojyo," he repeated in a muffled, coarse voice. "Come closer, hon, let me have a good look at you."

Gojyo's immediate reaction was to tell the man to drop dead. But then… Then he recognized the raspy tone, the predatory glint in the slanted eyes, the greedy expression. Lust. How many times had he been granted the dubious privilege of being the target of someone's lust? He held his breath, trying to concoct some plan. He could bat his eyelashes and play the coy virgin to stir this pervert's instincts, right? He and Hakkai needed an ally. He could play along, trusting his charms to grant both of them some reprieve. To gain Sanzo more time and…

…from a fetid thatched house, hurt eyes stared accusingly at him:

_Whore! _

Gojyo lowered his head, detesting himself. "Go to hell, you fucker," he mumbled.

The soldier chuckled and extended his arm through the bars.

"Corporal!" 'Bully-san' shouted and the word was picked up and repeated several times by and through the empty corridors. "Do you want to lose your arm? This demon eats people!"

Zhou Jun clicked his tongue, playing lazily with Gojyo's hair. "Do you, Gojyo? Would you like to taste me? I would certainly love to taste you. What beautiful hair you have!"

"Corporal, step back!"

"You know, Gojyo…" Zhou Jun continued, his words almost drowned out by Chen Dan's dramatic warnings. "Maybe if I had seen you first, things would be different. I would break you free from this prison myself, family and career be damned. You're worth any crazy acts a man could commit. But so is the monk."

Gojyo gasped. "Monk as in Sanzo? Is he here? What does he—" he trailed off when Zhou Jun began shaking his head.

"Corporal Zhou, step back _now_!" Chen Dan roared. "That's an order!"

"Too late now, Gojyo," Zhou Jun said with a sigh. "And what a waste. What a terrible, shameful waste."

Gojyo frowned, just wanting that intrusive hand gone. Because Hakkai had finger-combed his hair—the purest, tenderest caress he had ever felt—and now this pervert was tainting it again with his touch. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"And you don't have to understand anything," Zhou Jun replied sympathetically. "All you'll have to do is go with them." He stood and turned to 'Bully-san.' "It's all yours, Chen Dan-sama."

Two soldiers trained their guns on Gojyo as Chen Dan advanced, pulling a long whip from his belt. "You, freak!" He jerked the cell door open. "Up!" The snarl was followed by a loud crack that landed very close to Gojyo's legs. "Or I'll kill you right here with _this_!"

**o o o **

Zhou Jun retreated to the shadows, his erection now so painful that he had to open his fly. Oh, to caress that perfect, hurt, doomed creature—the creature that would suffer and finally die in order for him to have some nice, relaxing moments with its friend! It was like hunting a powerful wild animal just to extract its fangs, take its fur, or for no reason whatsoever other than the kill—the excitement lay upon the idea of destroying something mysterious, something vital, something holy, to get a bauble which would be paraded as a symbol of his own power. Never mind that all the mystery, all the vitality, all the holiness would be lost as soon as the beast's heart stopped beating.

Were the monk and this demon lovers? What an alluring, alluring thought! But now the youkai would scream for him, would agonize for him, would die for him, and him alone...

"Gojyo," he called, loving the way the name was caught by the hallowed corridors and mixed into the cutting noise of Chen Dan's whip. Such lovely red hair! And the little demon had spirit—after a particularly vicious blow, it had lowered its head in a gracious, submissive angle, only to bring it up again, eyes defiant.

Zhou Jun started fondling himself, enraptured. He had been on edge since touching Sanzo, so it did not take much to reach completion in time with the spastic movements of Sanzo's demon.

"Mou, watch out!" Chen Dan growled, tightening a rope around Gojyo's neck. "Come on, tie this thing's paws."

Gojyo was half-marched and half-carried out into the corridor and Zhou Jun nodded at Chen Dan when his small party passed by him. Chen Dan noticed his state with a grimace of disgust and pointedly lifted his chin, nostrils flaring.

Zhou Jun sagged against the wall and brought his hand to his lips, tasting himself. And in the silence that followed the youkai's departure, made one more request to the gods who, it seemed, had decided to smile upon him: to be allowed to watch Gojyo's execution when the time was right.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25 **

Sanzo scanned the office, surprised and relieved to find Hakkai sitting there. After a fruitless discussion with the captain's secretary—who, at the moment, babbled excuses and still tugged at his arm—it was an unexpected bonus to see with his own eyes at least one of his missing demons. He had been anticipating a long, tortuous battle before any kind of access to the prisoners was granted.

"I'm so sorry, Wu Tai-sama!" the secretary whined, trying to push Sanzo back to the corridor. "This monk listens to nobody! I've told him that you were busy, several times, and that your shift was past over… I tried to tell him that he _must _make an appointment, but—Eng Ho, help me here, you idiot!"

With a quick movement, Sanzo jerked his arm free, putting some distance between himself and the two men who hounded him. "Where's Gojyo?"

Hakkai merely sent him a silent warning.

"I told this foreigner you were busy, Captain!" the secretary kept ranting, ready to pounce again. "I'm so sorry for this! Now, Eng Ho, what are you doing just standing there?"

Wu Tai put a merciful end to the noise. "It's all right, Lieutenant. You and Private Eng can go."

The secretary hesitated, then bowed and went to the corridor, Eng Ho following him out. There was a glimpse of several armed men gathered there, craning their necks to look inside, before the door was closed.

Sanzo straightened his breastplate, looked at Hakkai—wounded and clearly unwell, swaying in his chair as if struggling to avoid slipping to the floor—and turned to the man at the desk, barely containing his anger. "Captain Wu Tai. You're in charge here, aren't you?"

Wu Tai stood up and bowed. "Sanzo-sama. Yes, I'm the superior officer of this district."

"So," Sanzo remarked dryly, "could you explain to me the meaning of this absurd situation? I entered your town to rest from a long journey—I'm on a quest for Kanzeon Bosatsu—and now, in the middle of the night, I have to roam streets and rummage through prisons. Under what charges are you keeping my servants in custody? Wrong eye color? Passing through a door? Going to a park? The goddess herself chose the men with whom I travel, Captain." He paused and pointed a finger at Hakkai. "Is this your example of welcome to someone who daily risks his own life to bring peace to our land?"

"Sanzo-sama, first things first," Wu Tai said tersely, sitting again. "Why don't you take a seat—"

"No, Captain, I prefer to stand. Where's the other one? The … youkai?"

"We shared a cell upon arriving here," Hakkai answered, his voice dull. "Gojyo is still there. Please, Wu Tai-sama, can't you send for him? As I said, he—"

"Cho Hakkai-san, I won't bring a youkai to my office," Wu Tai interrupted. "As for you, monk, better mind your manners, or you will be giving your demon company."

"My _manners_?" Sanzo repeated in his best upper-class tone. "It's _you_ who owes me an apology. I won't—"

"Captain, I thought we had reached an understanding?" Hakkai intruded again, not even bothering to hide his misery.

"Yes, one regarding _you_, not your demon," Wu Tai replied. "My duty is to put that thing in chains to stop it from causing trouble."

Sanzo coughed to disguise a snort of derision. That would be a good way of keeping Gojyo out of trouble, indeed. He should be the one shackling the damned kappa.

The image sent a spasm to his groin, immediately killing any hilarity caused by Wu Tai's words. He balled his fists, exasperated with his thoughts' recently acquired tendency of going round and round that one and only subject countless times a day; then, sensing the weight of Hakkai's glare, shifted his attention back to his teammate. Something lurked in Hakkai's bloodshot eye, something that Sanzo had never seen directed at himselfbefore.

Disappointment.

And doubt.

Stunned, Sanzo ran his fingers through his bangs. Also, it was not like Hakkai to butt into a discussion he was leading, was it? He lowered his head, feeling offended and ashamed when realization dawned. _You don't know if you can count on me to help you in this situation, right? _he mutely asked. _You need me, and Gojyo needs me, and you aren't sure that I won't make things worse charging around like a bull in a china shop. Fuck, Hakkai, give me some credit! _

But he did not deserve any, did he? What had he done so far?

"I have some reports here, Sanzo-sama," Wu Tai said, "if you wish to take a look."

Sanzo released the breath he had been holding. Then, mind purposefully blank, purposefully empty, he closed the distance to the captain's desk, focusing on the only item exposed to view in an otherwise barren room.

A sword.

The scabbard was magnificent, very old, and clearly not just an ornament. More like … an heirloom.

_Think! Did Wu Tai have a gun in his belt? _

No. And if a blade was the captain's chosen weapon… If he carried a sword when his people had firearms… That might speak volumes about the man.

Would not guns appear as a coward's toy to a die-hard warrior? Where was the honor or the skill in aiming a weapon at an enemy and pulling the trigger? Yes, it was simple to kill like that; all the mastery one needed was a nervous finger ready to move—even a child would be able to destroy the most accomplished fighter. And it was possible to do that at a safe distance, too; a man would not have to look in his opponent's eyes or pit his physical strength and expertise against his. So it was impersonal. It was life cheapened to its lowest level. Sanzo did not feel such pangs concerning his own gun, but he could understand.

Was _this_ the key to Wu Tai? 

"Captain," Sanzo temporized, feeling calmer, "let's be reasonable here. I was told that I have three days to get some kind of pass for the youkai, or he'll be executed." A gasp from Hakkai's direction. _Didn't you know this? Good for you or your evening would have been even shittier._ "Now, I don't have three days to spare in a mad chase for a piece of paper authorized with some idiot's signature. I'm a man of action, Captain. And what's a piece of paper compared to a man's word, a man's honor? I don't trust bureaucrats." Sanzo took his documents from an inner pocket and dropped them on Wu Tai's desk. "I, too, have papers, Captain—letters signed by several authorities, attesting to my story. If you wish to deal with papers and signatures."

Wu Tai shook his head. "I don't trust bureaucrats, either, Sanzo-sama, but—"

"So, let's resolve this little problem here, between us, Captain. Like men."

Silence.

Wu Tai took Sanzo's folded papers but did not read them. Sanzo pressed his advantage. "Wu Tai-sama, people are dying out there because I haven't attained my objective yet. I can't abandon my holy mission like that; I can't waste three days. Every single hour is important. Innocents are dying. I have this on my conscience; do you want to have their deaths on yours, too?"

"Sanzo-sama, I understand that you—"

"I knew you would understand, Captain," Sanzo said softly. "We are very much alike."

Wu Tai smiled and offered a chair again.

**o o o**

Hakkai blocked their voices and leaned back in his chair. Like Sanzo, he had perceived this possible way of dealing with the captain as soon as he had spotted the sword on its shelf—in fact, he had been wondering how he would be able to tip Sanzo off about it. Fortunately, his human was very observant.

A full-fledged migraine was making it difficult to keep his eyes open in such harsh light. He wanted to rub his temples, his forehead, his very brain, but it was impossible to use his hands. Gods, he just wanted to get out of this town, Sanzo and Gojyo and Goku by his side. He wanted to feel Hakuryu's heart beating against his neck. He had had enough of these people's bigotry; he didn't want to hear their dirty comments anymore. Or their laughter.

"It's not only a matter of observing petty laws, Sanzo-sama," Wu Tai protested, tapping his desk with a finger. "These reports—"

"Captain," Sanzo replied, "as I told you, I don't care about papers. Why should we…"

Hakkai drifted, his _chi _still focused on Wu Tai. The man believed their story and did not want to get in their way. He would let them go, eventually; but first they would have to carry out a long, complicated act of verbal sparring—a theater to appease his sense of duty. If Sanzo played his part as he was expected to, counterattacking the token objections, Wu Tai would allow himself to be convinced. He had serious qualms about some of the directives he was obliged to follow, Hakkai could tell. The captain's goodwill was not limitless, though; the word 'youkai,' and all the connotations it implied in such a racist environment, was becoming a determining factor in his recalcitrance. Sanzo had also noticed that and had begun referring to Gojyo by name or as 'my servant.'

Yes, Sanzo was now doing a good job, despite his untactful beginning. And it was so soothing to have their leader back, in all his aloof rationality…

"Captain, we didn't know about your rules," Sanzo was arguing patiently. "How can you condemn someone…"

From the barred window, the fresh breeze kept coming, ruffling Hakkai's hair.

Very soothing, indeed…

And he wanted to be outside, on the road, under the stars, feeling this caress…

"Sanzo-sama, you _know_ it's not _that_ simple!"

Hakkai jumped, startled; he had dozed for … seconds? minutes? And how could he have slept with such a hammer inside his skull?

_What's the matter with you? _he chided himself. _Think of Gojyo in that cell, while you're here, sleeping! _

He tried to concentrate, to understand what was being said. As if from a long distance, he saw Sanzo shaking his head, Sanzo mouthing words he could no longer hear. He saw Wu Tai soundlessly answering them, or trying to. It was like watching a scene from under water. He struggled to stay afloat, but his eyelids were so, so heavy…

_"I'm claiming this area as my territory. Hakuryu can go and find himself another chest to cuddle up with." _

That voice…

_"Gojyo?" he whispered. He felt a weight on his chest and looked down. Gojyo was once again resting against his body. Surprised, Hakkai reached up to stroke his hair. It flowed through his fingers like silk, like water. So beautiful! He loved that red hair—that tabooed symbol of bad luck. "Gojyo, how did you get here? I was—oh, never mind. I'm so tired; we can talk later." He regretted the words as soon as he voiced them; Gojyo already had a lot to worry about. _

_There was noise nearby—noise of unsettled horses and rusty, screeching sounds of wheels. And how strange it was, to have all this in their little cell! No, stable, they were in a stable…He was going to ask Gojyo if he knew what was happening, but his petting hand plunged into a viscous warm liquid and he recoiled. "What is this?" he asked, appalled. "Is this blood? Gojyo? Is this your blood?" _

_Gojyo tilted his face up to him, and there were only two empty sockets where the red eyes should have been. _

Hakkai woke. And froze.

_Gojyo? _

The pantomime between Sanzo and the captain was becoming more incensed.

_Gojyo? _

He straightened in his chair, feeling the alert thrumming in the air: _Danger. _

Twisting his hands against his bindings, Hakkai moaned.

_Gojyo is in danger. Gojyo is in danger. Gojyo— _

"…that's a big favor you're asking of me, Sanzo-sama." Wu Tai's voice suddenly broke in, half-drowned by the thundering of Hakkai's heart.

"It isn't a favor, Wu Tai-sama," Sanzo answered. "I'm merely asking you to do what your conscience knows is right."

_Gojyo. In danger. Gojyo. In danger. Gojyo— _

Hakkai tore open his wrists on the unyielding rope. His senses were so expanded now that he could hear the drops of his own blood falling onto the floor. Each one intoning the same warning:

_Gojyo. Danger. Gojyo. Danger— _

He looked at the closed door, vision swimming. Trapped. They were trapped. There were armed soldiers outside this office. He wanted to yell, to call Sanzo, but he could not, the atrocious throbbing in his head sending him into a paroxysm of impotence and pain.

And Gojyo…

Gojyo was in danger!

Suddenly, Hakkai launched himself forward and slammed what he could gather of his coherent mind against the captain's, seizing it. Wu Tai jerked in his chair, then grew totally still, eyes fixed and glazed as if he had suffered a stroke. _Send for Gojyo,_ Hakkai projected at him. _He's free. And then you'll let us go. Away from this prison. Away from this town. You'll let us go. You. Will. Let. Us. Go. _

"What the fuck are you doing, Hakkai?" Sanzo demanded.

Hakkai ignored him. Wu Tai rose with jerky movements, went to the door, opened it, and called his secretary.

"Hakkai? Answer me, damn it! I won't—" Sanzo broke off when the captain's secretary appeared at the door. Hakkai felt his legs buckling under him, felt himself falling, but that was not important. His numb body was not important. Only the other's body was important, the one that had to speak now and give orders. Steady hands on his shoulders—Sanzo's?—eased him to the floor.

"Send for the youkai," Hakkai murmured and, to his relief, Wu Tai spoke out those very words. Above him, Sanzo gasped in shocked surprised. "Everything was a misunderstanding," Hakkai went on. And so did Wu Tai. "I'm going to set the foreigners free."

"Captain?" the secretary rasped, lowering his voice further. And Hakkai knew he was also hearing his words through Wu Tai. "Sir, are you sure? Last time—"

"Do as I say," Hakkai whispered back and Wu Tai repeated the order aloud. "It's late, and everybody is tired and wanting to go home. _I _want to go home."

"I—yes, sir."

Hakkai commanded Wu Tai to close the door. The captain, Hakkai knew/felt, had now his lips parted in a mute scream. From Sanzo's distracting touch came questions and half-formed accusations about his rash act. And concern. Hakkai tried to push Sanzo away, his request to be left alone coming out as a pathetic whimper. He was also shaking as if he was having a seizure.

Sanzo seemed to have understood that he did not want physical contact and withdrew after untying his wrists. There was a knock on the door and, drenched in sweat, Hakkai struggled to his knees.

_Answer it_, he commanded Wu Tai.

Uncoordinatedly, the captain opened the door. Hakkai squinted, seeing the scene bizarrely through his and the human's eyes. The secretary and more than a few soldiers hovered there, though only one tall man stepped into the room with a harassed expression.

"Captain," the tall one said, "I don't know how to explain this, but—sir, the prisoner is no longer here. It seems that Sergeant Chen Dan decided to transfer it to the Anthill of his own accord."

Through his connection with Wu Tai, Hakkai caught an idea of what that meant, what was synonymous with that strange name: death.

_Death. Death. Death DEATH DEATH DEATH— _

"I saw them going, sir," the tall soldier continued. "I even went with the sergeant to the cell. I thought you had ordered the thing away. I realized what had happened only when Fei Ru-sama told us that you sent for the creature."

Wu Tai began fighting Hakkai's control, really fighting, and Hakkai sobbed, afflicted. He would not be able to maintain his hold. The human was slipping away. Slipping…

"Captain? Are you all right, sir?"

Despair. Such undiluted, total despair, and Hakkai's head was exploding now, in a blast of excruciating, white-hot pain. He gasped once, rolling up his eyes and pitching forward with a last mental scream: _Gojyo! _

**o o o**

Kneeling by an unconscious Hakkai, Sanzo stared at Wu Tai. The man stood motionless, red-faced, eyes burning with fury.

"Captain? Wu Tai-sama?" Fei Ru entered the room, elbowing Zhou Jun aside. "Sir, what is going on here?" Behind him, the soldiers were already drawing their guns. "Captain?"

Sanzo locked his eyes with Zhou Jun's—who nodded at him, smirking.

"Sir, do you need to sit? Eng Ho, bring him water! Quick!"

Sanzo pulled Hakkai to his arms. It was over. And he wanted to howl in frustration. If he were also in a cell, how could he go after Gojyo's papers? And Hakkai… Buddha, what would happen to Hakkai after such a stunt?

"What have these foreigners done to you, sir?"

"Damned youkai lovers!"

From the direction of the door came the click of several guns being cocked.

Sanzo tightened his arms around Hakkai, shielding him with his body in case the captain gave the order to shoot, and closed his eyes. And as he waited for the bullets, waited for pain and for death, a part of his mind still reeled, still planned, denying this nightmare, seeking a way out of the treacherous maze that had ensnared his team and threatened to devour them all.

**End of Part I**


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